


Heart Stone

by Stickythings



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arranged Marriage, Class Differences, Cultural Differences, Dubious Consent, Forced Marriage, M/M, Multi, Prince Stiles, mercenary derek hale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-04-16 17:49:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 50,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14170266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stickythings/pseuds/Stickythings
Summary: Mieczyslaw ‘Stiles’ is a sheltered Prince trapped in a siege. Derek Hale of the Wolf Clan is a mercenary leader searching for a mate. Their paths cross, and the Prince must learn to create his own power and find his own voice to live the life he desires.





	1. The Prince

**Author's Note:**

> 'Bout time I gave back to the fandom, especially the history groupies.  
> Tis set in a fantasy medieval setting, otherwise I'd go mad with research.
> 
> ~I do not give permission for this work to be post any where on the internet without my permission.  
> Especially do not share or post on reddit, goodreads or wattpad.
> 
> Big Danke to GobsmackApplejack for beta'ing the first chapter for me *fist bump*  
> Constructive criticism is welcome, just don't be a dick.  
> 

Prince Mieczyslaw ‘Stiles’ rested his chin upon his palm, his longbow pressed to his side at the ready as he looked over the city walls to the land below. A Prince he may be, and yet he was on guard duty atop the outer wall. Three years prior he could not have imaged he would have been in such a position, or even allowed to hold a military rank. Yet here he was, with a long bow and a quiver full of arrows, watching for any enemy movement beyond their territory. It had been a quiet day, which was to be expected after the midnight raid the previous night, and so he let his gaze wander from tower to ruined tower, each with battle marks. His city of Beacon’s Light had been bombarded and burnt, but it still held fast, though it appeared less glorious than it had three years prior. The city itself boasted a wealth of mineral resources that all other kingdoms relied upon, but their wealth and prosperity also attracted enemies.  
For three years the Kingdom and the surrounding lands within Beacon’s Light territory had been under attack from the Northern Kingdom of Uruk. For three years they resisted and defended their lands, but after one extraordinary defeat at the Fields of Spears the Kingdom had lost the advantage. The capital city of Beacon’s Light had been under siege for two years before an urgent request had been sent out to all the Kingdoms of Carthia. The only kingdom that had answered her call wasn’t even really a kingdom. It was a small hold within the middle of the Carthia, a settlement that was ruled over by the Mercenary General Derek Hale of the Wolf Clan. He came to the aid of Beacon’s Light with his Heavy Mercenary Infantry and pushed back the enemy forces and turned the tides of war. It had been eight months since that request had been answered. And while many considered the help from a paid army beneath them, no one could deny how invaluable the Mercenaries were to their victory. The city was still reeling from the devastating siege, and there were still more battles to be fought before the armies of Uruk were defeated. Yet Stiles could feel the struggle was nearly over, and soon there would be a crushing defeat for the armies of Uruk. It was all possible due to the hired swords, the Wolf Clan who came from the flatlands, and their charismatic Alpha leader. 

Stiles turned his gaze to the lower grounds, watching a small group of mercenaries below. They were brutish and deadly, but efficient. He had heard his brother, father and the war generals call them barbarians, and from what Stiles had learnt years before they appeared to be such. They were coarse and unrefined; wearing boiled leather armour trimmed with animals pelts. They had little regard for social cues, and only seemed serious and contained in matters of war. Yet they were fascinating and kind. He let his eyes wander over the mercenaries below. They were Beacon’s Light saviours, but even after eight months of living within the walls, they were still treated with contempt. How could they not? A small band of mercenaries led by a barbarian calling himself King was to save the once glorious city of Beacon’s Light when its own imperial army was incapable. Stiles was all too aware of how his brother and father saw them, but to Stiles, who had spent endless hours learning from those mercenaries, he saw them simply as comrades. Under different circumstances he would never have been allowed to speak to such people, especially a barbarian Alpha such as Derek Hale or any of his soldiers. However, war changed everything, especially social constructs. 

Now the young Omega Prince of Beacon’s Light was a Captain. Necessity had called for all able bodied men and women of all secondary genders to join the service after the first year. Some constructs still existed: Omegas were not allowed to fight on the field, but for the first time they were given a rank above ‘mistress or master of the household’. All Omegas without children were either medics or archers. The war was devastating, and the loss of life staggering, but Stiles revelled in being called Captain above Omega. For once he had a true purpose; he was no longer seen for his ability to breed or nurture, but for his ability to strategize and fight for his city. Before the war had begun Stiles had been 16, just on the cusp of his Omega training. Yet all those traditions of Omegas being taught separately and learning different skills than their Beta and Alpha siblings had to be swept aside. He did not think it much of a bother, and while he was betrothed he had very little reason to even remember he was an Omega, that he should be treated differently.  
Much of the Royal house still treated him differently than his older Alpha brother, but they had always done so. But in Derek Hale, he had found an equal. He had heard the man was the leader, and essentially the King of the Wolf Clan, yet he never acted with pomp and ceremony as Stiles’ own father did. Derek dressed and acted as his fellow soldiers; with seriousness, care, strength and loyalty. The mercenary leader did not think in class or genders. He thought in strategy and logic. He was Stiles’ friend, and someone he would miss dearly when the war ended and the mercenary left their lands to return to his quaint township. 

Pulling himself from his thoughts Stiles pushed himself from the wall and busied himself with actual guard duty. A Captain he may be, but he followed Derek Hale’s method of leading by example. 

*  
Outside the city walls.

Derek brushed the thick dirt from his britches and stood up; he surveyed his and his comrade’s handiwork.  
They were both dressed in their leather armour, ever ready and vigilant for an attack. When they had first entered the city the region’s knights were aghast that their high paid and highly skilled defenders rejected the offer of impeccably crafted polished steel armour, and had decided instead to keep their motley hardened leather armour. Derek had fought in all makes; some stolen or looted from battle and some bought. But nothing beat the fit and durability of his Hold’s crafted leather armour over a shirt of chainmail and the padded aketon underneath.  
“You know I’m sure they aren’t paying us to maintain the land all day.” Jordan huffed, securing a cross work of wooden pikes together with thick rope. 

“No, most definitely not, but they are short on men and these barricades will help slow the tide of the enemy and save our own hide as well,” Derek commented, hauling a barricade of the tri-piked fences in place. “We cannot lose this ground we’ve fought so hard to win.”  
They were fixing several the wooden pikes that had been torn apart during the raiding party the previous night. Splatters of blood and scraps of enemy clothing were scattered across the stone bridge and about the wooden pikes. The pikes themselves were a series of thick branches cut into spears and strapped in such a way as to create a small fence, with one spear facing upwards, while the two others dug into the ground. The easily made barricades slowed the onslaught of cavalry and infantry alike, and their design meant that when they were knocked over they provided the same protection. But since the raiding party had torn and bashed most of them apart the previous night they needed maintenance. 

“The steward’s men or even the pages could do this work,” Jordan huffed, cutting off the thick rope end with his dagger. He slipped it back into the sheath at his side and glanced over at the imposing mountainous entrance to the great city they fought for. “Though I believe your reasons for doing such menial work is due to the show that you’re currently giving one young prince.”  
Derek grinned and shared a cheeky glance with his second in command. He knew the Prince would be on watch with the other archers today; he knew because he had made sure before he had left the city to do such menial work in the city’s shadow.  
Jordan shook his head and rested against the wooden barricade. He looked back up at the high walls and could easily spot the young prince walking the distance of the wall on watch duty, stopping to talk to his fellow archers before moving on. 

“If you weren’t so stubborn I would tell you not to get your hopes up.”  
“A man needs to have his fun, Jordan. I believe you’ve been enjoying your stay by loitering around the tavern and oogling the pretty soft boys the city has to offer.”  
“I have a mate at home who would kill me for the very idea! Even so, if I weren’t mated it would be perfectly acceptable for me; I’m a lowly Mercenary lieutenant, unlike you. For a Mercenary General and Clan leader to have intentions on a Prince is entirely different.” 

Derek finished pulling the heavy barricades into place across the stone bridge and walked up to his friend, slapping Jordan on the back he glanced up at the city walls. “He enjoys my company and I his. Nothing scandalous.”  
“Except your intentions are scandalous-“  
“Perhaps he feels the same way, you should see how he changes when it’s just the two of us.”

Once they finished the barricade, they picked up their fur cloaks and walked back towards the city walls. There were marks scattered across the ground from previous battles; large craters from catapults, burnt and splintered battering rams, broken arrows still buried in the earth, fractures of iron swords and shattered shields. The blood was always taken away by the midnight snow that drifted down from the mountain. Further, and to the side of the walls that enclosed the entire capital there was a large graveyard, only recently dug due to the mercenaries’ help and protection. During the siege when the enemies slept at the very gate, the people had to cremate their kin, or else had to watch the enemy strip the body on the battlefield and throw them into the river.

War and everything it entailed was familiar to Derek. The battlefield was his home.  
“I’ve noticed you’ve begun to court him.” Jordan brought his general out of his thoughts as they neared the large city gates.  
“I have. It’s been slow, but he’s very receptive,” Derek replied, clasping his cloak to his armour.  
“Receptive or not, he can’t be your mate. He is royalty.”  
Jordan and Derek began to walk up the winding stone path towards the city’s massive oak doors. Their iron bolts and thick oaken slates now charred by enemy fire.  
“The campaign is ending, you said so yourself. We should be breaking away within the next few months, and while we will take many spoils with us back to Triskelion you cannot take the Prince. Remember that while he may be agreeable towards you now, under other circumstances, if we were not hired to aid his kingdom, he would not spare you a second glance. We are not courtiers, nor are we even his subjects,“ Jordan paused speaking for a moment as they passed several light soldiers. While the Royal Guard, cavalry, and the Heavy Assault soldiers still held contempt towards Derek Hale and his mercenaries, the foot soldiers, the lowest in the Light army, held him in high regard. It was due to him that they were still alive.  


The Light soldiers dipped their heads in respect as they passed, and Derek and Jordan replied in turn.  
Once they were out from ear shot Jordan continued to speak.  
“The Prince is not someone you can bed and then simply leave the next day.”  
“And what if I don’t want to leave, what if I am growing accustomed to this delightfully ruined city?”  
Jordan nodded to the guards as they neared the doors, only one of which was partially open for a small party of infantry to pass through. “Even so,” Jordan stressed turning on his friend he continued in a hushed tone, “he’s an Omega, who is betrothed by the way, and once this war is over they’ll shove us out the gates without a second thought. If they were not so desperate for our aid they’d never have let you become so familiar with an unmated Omega, and a Royal one at that!”  
“I think it’s perfectly reasonable for me to be interested in him, we’d make a fine pair.”  
Jordan groaned, “I do not know how many times I’ve heard that. There is always at least one Omega in every city we defend that catches your eye. Last time I remember it was a young knight in the court of Torrintill, but now, well,” he tossed his hands in the air and sighed, “now you’ve set your sights higher! Next you’ll be wanting to bed the High King himself!”  
“That’s not very fair Jordan…the High King is almost seventy years.”  
The two Mercenaries passed through the gates and stepped into the busy streets of Beacon’s Light.  
“I honestly believe the only thing you take seriously is battle tactics, everything else is just a farce to you.”  
Derek turned on Jordan and gripped his leather covered shoulders. “In all seriousness Jordan, this time it’s very different. I’d do anything to call him mine and keep him.”  
“Keep those high ambitions for winning wars, not bedding pretty Omegas.”  
The conversation came to a stop as they walked through the busy city streets towards the Royal Palace. Derek had always longed to venture passed the great walls, to see what was so jealously guarded within.  


Even with scorch marks across the thick walls, Beacon’s Light was the most beautiful city they had ever had to protect. It was an ancient city, the oldest in all Carthia. Its thick stone walls were carved from the very mountains that surrounded it. The city was large, but was easily dwarfed by the rocky mountain slopes. The land outside the city’s walls were once dotted with small dwellings and the odd tavern. The province of Carthia huddled along the curving river that ran from North, through the East and ended in the South. Beacon’s Light was relatively isolated in the wilderness.  
It had long been rumoured that the High King wished to own Beacon’s Light, not content with the tax he received from the city. The city was Carthia’s shining glory, built in an ancient style that had long been lost. Yet the High King was not the only one who had his eye trained on the city, for Beacon’s Light had many who wanted to claim her, though none had tried for hundreds for years. Derek had often mused that the city was one of the most easily defended. The large impenetrable mountains surrounded the city, making it impossible to flank. There was one entrance to the city - besides the many secret entry ways he knew the Royals must be hiding - and that one entrance meant an easy control of traffic, friendly and enemy. In his idle time Derek had formulated plans on how to attack and conquer each major city. It was a fun way to pass the time and kept his mind active and, who knows, perhaps one day he would need those plans. And he knew that the only way to defeat the heavily guarded Beacon’s Light was to siege the city and starve the population. As it turned out he was not the only one with bright ideas, the army of Uruk also had the same idea, and they had the means and motivation to follow through. But they had not anticipated intervention from his clan, and that would be their downfall.

*

Stiles quickly glanced over the wall into the city. The streets were filled, but the crowd, either through respect or disdain, parted easily where Derek and his Lieutenant Jordan walked. Turning back, he quickly marched across the wall, keeping the two mercenaries in sight. He quickly saluted to the main wall guard before trotting down the many flagstone steps. Walking down past the store room where weaponry was stored he rounded a corner and jumped the final steps into the busy city streets. The crowd parted for him, bowing and saluting as he made his way through. The two mercenaries were already across the main courtyard and walking up the large stone steps that would lead them into the Palace. Holding his bow close, Stiles walked through the streets, stopping a few times along the way to talk to citizens and other soldiers. While he would prefer to run, it wasn’t proper and in times of war would only raise panic. But luckily for him the two mercenaries were dawdling, standing together on the steps chatting about something. It was nice to see the two soldiers relaxed enough to do so. As Stiles neared he admired the thick wolf pelt that hung from Derek’s shoulders. While some regarded the mercenaries attire as rural, rugged and uncivilised, Stiles had often desired to run his hands through the pelt. He had felt a wolf’s pelt before, but Derek’s always looked so soft and fluffy.  
Unlike the mercenaries, the soldiers of Beacon’s Light were used to the ever present chill in the air and as such only the Knights and Royal Guards wore capes, not cloaks. Stiles’ uniform was thankfully less pretentious than his father had liked. The King was reluctant to allow his Omega son into the military, but circumstances being what they were allowed him and the other willing Omegas of the Region to take up position as archers and medics, as was the custom in war. As a prince, Stiles should be wearing brightly polished silver armour with a billowing blue cape all embossed with gold, and yet he had argued that he would only stand out as a target on the parapets. His armour along with the other city archers were more akin to the mercenaries’; practical, worn, durable, with a mixture of leather and iron. He also wore a silk blue scarf tightly wrapped about his neck, as was custom for all un-bonded Omegas, no matter what rank.  
Just as he reached the bottom of the steps Derek turned to look at him, gemstone eyes pinning him in place. Even as a prince, Stiles felt the full force of an Alpha in command; it always left him feeling a little breathless. The man was taller than Stiles, like most Alphas were. But not only was the mercenary leader a head taller than him, he had a bulky, solid form that spoke of the battles the Alpha had endured.  
“My Prince.” The mercenary leader bowed, holding his pelt back with one hand as he stepped down a step.  
Jordan followed suit and Stiles bowed back and smiled. “I saw you working the barricades, how does the outer wall fare?”  
Derek smiled and rested his hand on the pommel of his sword, idly tapping it in amusement. “I doubt very much that they’ll make it to the outer wall again. The next time they come you may find yourself and the other archers quite bored.”  
Stiles laughed softly to himself and took a step higher, “I would very much like that; each time they come closer to the walls it causes panic within the city.”

“They should have more faith in their Prince. You have done a commendable job of keeping the enemy at bay.” Derek took another step down until he stood one step above Stiles. Jordan hadn’t moved, only watching in mild interest.  
“I would say the honour truly lies at your-“  
“My Prince!” 

Stiles turned to see who had interrupted him, but felt himself shrink at the sight of the person atop the stairs. The man in question was Stiles’s betrothed; Captain of the Royal Guard, Theo Raeken, a beautiful and sharp Alpha who did not like him talking to the mercenaries, or any other Alphas for that matter.  
Theo trotted down the steps quickly, his metal sabaton boots clinking away on the stone steps, his blue cape billowing behind him. He wore a fine piece of armour, polished silver with an embossed image of their Kingdom’s mountain with the sun rising from behind. Unlike the foot soldiers and the mercenaries, Theo’s armour only had minor scratches and marks, having never been in the thick of battle. He brushed past Jordan, then Derek, barely sparing either Alpha a glance before he took Stiles’ elbow.  
“Your father requires your presence.” Theo turned so that he was in-between Stiles and the other Alphas before pulling him along up the steps and towards the throne room. Derek and Jordan bowed as he passed, and it was only when both Captains were at the top of the steps that they continued along as well.  
Stiles may have gained a new title in these past three years, but even while he was a prince, the title Omega was always paramount. Theo Raeken, as Captain of the Royal Guard and his betrothed Alpha, could order him as diplomatically as he liked, and he did so whenever he felt it was necessary. And Theo always felt it was necessary to intervene with the mercenaries; no idle conversation was allowed with any other Alpha that was not family unless Theo was present. Even so there were always reasons why Stiles needed to speak to the Wolf Clan Alpha, all under the guise of military conversation, particularly when his Alphas were not present. The war had changed things, and while his Alphas may not recognise it, Stiles was enjoying the new freedom the military allowed. 

“I would wish that you do not speak to that Alpha so often, and in public no less,” Theo whispered harshly as they came to the large palace entrance.  
The doors were opened and they stepped into the large cavernous room. The entire palace had been carved into the mountain, and no effort had been made to cover up the stone that created the thick walls and large dome ceilings. The light that shone from various candles and fires was swallowed by the sheer size of the room, but were reflected by the gold gilding and large bronze plates that were pressed into the stone in various designs.  
“I may speak to the General whenever I wish, I was merely-“  
Theo turned to stand in front of the Prince, towering over him.  
“You are both unmated, can you not see how that will raise suspicion? He is an outsider, people will talk and rumours will spread. I will not allow it.”  
“I was merely-“  
“I have seen the way he looks at you!” Theo tugged on Stiles’ elbow, wanting to force his point across, but upon noticing they were still only in the entryway with guards waiting on either side, Theo retreated and took a step back. As he did so his gaze went past his betrothed and landed on the Clan Alpha and his lieutenant coming towards them. Theo squared his shoulders and swished his cape back before turning around and motioned for Stiles to follow. While the palace had been built for defence, sound travelled easily around the large open space. 

Derek and Jordan stopped short of the flagstone stairway that lead from the great Hall to the Throne room. There were two guards on duty at the bottom, and while it would have been easy to stand and wait until the steward appeared at the top of the steps and announced that the King was awaiting their report, they were unable to talk as freely as they would have liked in the vast Hall.  
Derek’s eyes stayed focused on the Prince as he strode up the stairs with the Captain of the Royal Guard.  
Once they were gone from sight Derek and Jordan turned left and walked through the halls that would lead them to the Royal mess hall. Once closed to commoners, the beautiful Hall was now open to the soldiers, though only a handful of mercenaries were welcome. Derek agreed with the King’s decision to only allow himself and his ranking captains to occasionally eat with the rest: It was never wise for a mercenary army to become familiar and close with the residing army.  
They both sat down at one of eight long wooden tables and were quickly served warm mead and buttery bread by the royal kitchen staff. The Hall was in use throughout the day and late into the night, and the staff was attentive to the soldiers who may only have a few moments rest before being sent back out on duty. 

Jordan took a bite of his bread and looked about the tired faces in the Hall.  
“Do you think it’s likely that we’ll win this before the pass freezes over?”  
“It’s possible.” Derek looked about the room and continued, “I don’t think these men have another winter’s siege in them.”  
“They were hit hard before we came to their aid.”  
Derek took a swig of mead and sat the tankard down. “When no one else would.”  
They ate in comfortable silence for several minutes, simply enjoying their meal and the warmth of the hearty fire in the large brazier in the middle of the Hall.  
“Don’t you think it’s strange the Prince is betrothed to the Captain of the Royal Guard?”  
“Perhaps it’s a love match?” Jordan smiled.  
Derek rolled his eyes and dipped his bread into his mead, “Captain Theo is an arse and the Prince detests him, it’s plain to see.”  
“So why then? I’d imagine the King would marry him to a neighbouring kingdom.”  
Derek chewed on his bread and pondered. “The King may wish to keep his son close, but I think he’s waiting for something.”  
“Like a strong loyal Alpha to stroll into his kingdom and whisk his son away?” Jordan joked, knocking his crumbs around the table. “Keep in mind the boy should have begun his Omega training the same year the war began. The boy has been trapped inside the city walls for three years. Probably why he’s betrothed to the Captain.”  
“Omega training,” Derek scoffed, “some good that’d do him. He’s lucky he got trained in the military instead and missed out on all the bullshit. The military is genderless and gives you all the life lessons you’ll ever need-.”  
“Talos you’re biased.” Jordan swore. He drained his mead and shot a look at his general. “You grew up on a battlefield, you’ve known nothing else-“  
“You were ten when your parents surrendered you to the war effort, like your opinion differs.” Derek scoffed.  
“Unlike you-“ Jordan leaned across the table and smiled, “-when our company had leave I took full advantage and explored what the world offered-“  
“We do enough exploring each season of the country.”  
Jordan shook his head in good humour, it was a well known conversation, one they’d had several times.  
“Perhaps you should take leave this winter? Experience life outside of Triskelion as a commoner?”  
“Perhaps-“ Derek began, brandishing the last bit of his soaked bread at his comrade, “I just need a worldly mate, one who can educate me in matters that don’t pertain to war.”  
Jordan rolled his eyes and stood up. He brushed his britches and adjusted his sword at his hip before leaning over the table, “Someone like a prince perhaps?”  
Derek smirked back and shoved his last bit of bread into his mouth, “Perhaps.”

 

*  
The War Room.

“We could bargain with them. Give them more gold and silver. They took all the obsidian and ebony last time.” An elderly courtier suggested.  
“And yet they came back! We cannot try to buy peace with our precious ore. It simply gave them a taste of what they could have if they won the city. They will not be pacified with ore, not when they are aiming to own the very mines from which they come.” The King sighed and leaned back into his throne.  
Derek, Jordan, several courtiers, Knights and Generals were gathered around a large stone table with a detailed map of the city, the surrounding lands and the mountain sides and escape routes through the deep rock. They were in the War Room; a large dome shaped room in the heart of the palace. The stone walls were lined with Beacon’s Light’s flags, maps and various weapons. To the side stood a large open fireplace to keep the Generals warm through the night as they strategized their chances of survival through another harsh winter.  
“What we need-“ Derek interjected, “is another full scale attack from the enemy.”  
The statement left everyone in shock, but the heir to the throne, Prince Scott, was the first to speak. “Is this what we’ve hired you for? To give us idiotic suggestions! If I were-“  
“Silence!” The King bellowed, patting his son on the shoulder and gesturing back to the mercenary, “General Hale has not lead us astray once my son, let the man speak.“ Leaning forward King John steepled his fingers together, “What could we possibly gain General Hale? We’ve only just gained ground.”  
“These skirmishes of theirs are wearing us down. Each time we lose soldiers, and with each attack the people lean closer to panic. We need to draw the enemy in. Winter will soon be upon us and I do not believe this city can sustain another winter long siege.”  
“So what you’re proposing is one last battle?”  
“A decisive battle that will crush the enemy against these very walls.” Derek clenched his fist and leaned them against the table, his body thrumming with adrenaline as he saw how his plan could unfold. “My scouts say the enemy is hunkering down for the winter, and your meteorologists say that this winter will be our worst yet, no doubt the enemy knows this. We can draw them in, make them think they can win the final blow against the city and thus spend the winter in these very walls feasting on your sons and daughters.”  
Each Knight and General was nodding in agreement, but the last statement caused many to frown in distaste. Common folk never did like to talk about what happened to the defeated. 

A General stepped forward, wearing fine brocade and polished silver armour. “We have the advantage; I suggest we pull our forces to the front lines, away from the city. We’ve gained ground, if we pull back now we’ll be under siege once again. Now is the time to act!”  
The King nodded slowly in agreement as he looked over the worn map. It was true they had gained ground in the last battle; it would be wise to use it and set up a defence force and fortify the once captured guard towers.  
“My King, if I may?” Derek interjected, leaning forward to capture the head Alphas attention.  
“Proceed.”  
“My scouts have informed me that the enemy will most likely mount a cavalry charge in two days hence. If we have troops along the border we cannot withstand a cavalry charge. Your men will be pushed back, and while retreating into the city we risk the cavalry breaking through.”  
“You suggest my men would retreat and forfeit this entire war!” A General snapped.  
“Under the circumstances your line would not hold. Fear has planted its seed in the hearts of your men; the war had tired them and I believe they would fall.”  
“How dare you! The very id-“ Prince Scott shouted  
“What else do you propose General Hale?” The King asked, brows pinched as he studied the map. 

“I propose that we draw our forces back into the city, let the enemy charge, let them try to scale the walls while the wall troops hold them off. The night before I will lead my companions to the hilltop that we have captured and there we will lie in wait. When the enemy is pressed against the walls, myself and my companions will flank them from behind. Another smaller battalion station to the side of the city will also surround them. If it is true they plan to use the cavalry then the horses will panic and cause havoc within their own lines.” Derek paused for effect as he pointed out his plan on the map, all eyes watching him. “This is the Anvil and Hammer tactic and it has not failed. My King if you allow me to orchestrate this battle I can promise you it will be the last.”

“This is preposterous!“ Prince Scott shouted, “If you place a man against a wall and a sword at his throat, he’s going to fight till the death! We cannot trap our enemy, we must give them an out for retreat!“ Prince Scott looked beseechingly at his father, “All the great war strategists say this.”  
“This tactic that you keep repeating-“ General Hale shouted, “-is why you’ve been at war for three years! You cannot let the enemy re-group!”  
“I’ve lived through this entire siege! You’ve been here for 8 months and you think-“  
“Silence!“ King John rubbed his forehead in agitation, “Silence.”  
It seemed that at every War meeting since General Hale arrived his heir and the mercenary would fight like a pair of rabid dogs.  
“We have turned the tide of this war and come back from the very brink of destruction thanks to General Hale. I trust General Hale’s knowledge, my Son.”  
The room was silent for a moment until the King spoke again, “If I put you in sole charge of this last push, can you guarantee me we will win this war? You will stay to the very end?”  
Derek clenched his fist and placed it over his heart, bowing to the King he spoke, “If I cannot win, then I will die fighting within these very walls.”  
The King sighed to himself in thought and studied the map. In the past three years they had not been able to orchestrate a tactic where they were able to surround the enemy, but perhaps now that they had the ability to do so they should take advantage of it. The King studied the General Alpha for a moment; the young man was skilled in warfare and had proven himself many times already. But could he really trust the barbarian ‘king’ to win him the war?  
“Very well, I want your entire detailed plan outlaid by tomorrow evening. Discuss this further with my generals, and Scott-“ King John rose from his chair but paused to look at his son, “remember in War the General outranks you, heed his advice and direction.”  
“Yes father.”  
“Once you know their finer movements General Hale, I want you and your clan to make haste to the hilltop. Have them prepared ahead of time.”  
“Yes my King.”

*  
Later that night.

General Derek Hale walked up the many stone steps to the top of the wall. Like most nights spent under the mountain the sky was overcast with thick rolling clouds, and only occasionally would the bright moon shine through the gaps. Walking along the length of the wall the general passed by many guards, some dipped their head or bowed in respect while others were focused entirely on the ragged landscape that stretched out below them. He soon came to the end turret where the silhouette of the prince stood. Of course the Prince would choose watch duty on the most damaged turret; it was blackened by fire and missing most of the merlons and hoarders which archers needed for cover. Yet its solid stone form and the resilience after many catapult strikes were a testament to the city’s founding engineers and her people.  
The Prince turned as he heard the soft creaking of leather armour and footsteps approaching. The light from the small brazier in the centre of the turret lit up his face.  
“All is calm; there is no need for concern.” Derek stated as he walked up the three steps that led into the turret.  
“I thought perhaps you were a messenger from my brother.” Stiles replied, smiling softly before turning back towards the dark landscape before him. A crate of arrows rested at his feet, feathers up ready to be drawn.  
“In that case then I’m sorry to disappoint.” Derek rested his shoulder against one of the remaining merlons and faced the prince.  
“Please don’t apologise, is something the matter?”  
“Nothing is stirring; I simply find it hard to sleep.” Derek moved closer to the Prince and rested his hand on the crenel, the low point of the turret between the merlons so that he could gaze out at the landscape below. The furthest point that they could see was a burnt farmhouse and barn, one of the earliest casualties. Close to that on the East side was a hill that the enemy army camped behind. They had become bold with each victory to camp so close, yet they were always out of range and out of sight. 

“Have you been briefed on today’s session?”  
Stiles scoffed, “You know very well that my commanding officer; my brother, chooses to de-brief me last of all. It is as if he hopes the battle will be over and won before I leave my bed, he still does not like me becoming a Captain or serving on the wall.” Glancing to the side he studied how the moonlight defined the General’s features. From his thick brows, intense gaze focused across the landscape, his strong aquiline nose and firm but inviting looking lips surrounded by the dark scruff he wore so well, he had the appearance of a rough and tumble Alpha. Stiles dipped his gaze and looked away. This close he could smell the Alpha, a distinctive scent of leather, smoke and male sweat and musk that the Prince had grown accustomed to. While in the past he was captivated by Alphas and Betas who wore cologne tinged with synthetic musk undertones, being surrounded by so many naturally occurring smells after a hard day under the sun Stiles began to enjoy the strong innate scent of a virile Alpha.  
“You would be wasted elsewhere.”  
“I…I thank you General but there is no need…”  
“I am not the type to flatter, my Prince, you should know this by now. I admire your skills with the bow, and I am sure that with time so will your father and obstinate brother.”  
Stiles let the flattery sink in for a moment before it became too much and he had to shake off his blush.  
“I believe they are longing for the day when I can lay my bow down for good, and-“ Stiles flapped his hand around with a frown, “-pick up the needle and thread instead.”  
Derek chose not to answer, and instead they both stayed silent, scanning the perimeter before the Prince hesitantly broke the silence.  
“In your army…I’ve seen Omegas on the battlefield-“, looking side eye at the general Stiles continued, “-I only know because I have sometimes heard it in the medical ward, or have seen their bond marks.”  
Derek smiled, “We have a few yes, many of the ones I’m sure you’ve seen were either rescued from slavery, given to me as payments, or sold to the army.”  
Stiles stood aghast for a moment, his mind jumping from each scenario to the next.  
“But-but Omegas, they are sacred. No one would ever, it’s simply not done! If my father were to know of this!”  
“All life is precious Stiles. But you are much too sheltered behind your walls, and while the general sentiment is that Omegas are precious and should be cared for, some aren’t. There are reasons why this happens. Each of my soldiers has their own story, but it is not my place to tell.”  
“No of course not! But…” Stiles turned away for a moment as he steeled himself before continuing, “The ones given to you as payment, have you, are you bonded to any?”

“I am unmated my Prince, I know you’re aware of this because I know Captain Raeken reminds us both when we simply look at each other.” Derek reached out and placed his hand on Stiles’ elbow, capturing his attention before speaking, “The few Omegas that have been given to me as payment now fight in my army. I give them their freedom, but they choose to stay.”  
“Why?” the Prince asked in a soft voice.  
“Because Triskelion is like no other, and the masters who give them away do not wish them to return. It’s true that Omegas are sacred, but to many that means valuable. These masters would have sold them, except they have what many would call ‘character flaws’, perfect for the army and the company I keep, but no doubt difficult to sell.”  
“I feel sorry for them.”  
“Don’t. They are happy, they have found their place.”  
“As soldiers?”  
“And as wives and husbands.”  
Stiles frowned at the juxtaposition.  
“Some chose to hold the fort while we’re on campaign, some join their mates. My sister-“ Derek smiled at the Prince and rubbed his chin, “-She’s an Omega, a brilliant cavalry officer. She’s currently holding the fort back home.”  
Stiles laughed in surprise and looked down at his hands fiddling with his bow, “I like the sound of her.”  
Derek wanted to say that they’d get along well, that Cora could be his friend if not comrade, but he knew that while he admired Stiles’ ability, he was still a Prince. He was still so sheltered and fragile. His sister would find it hard to respect someone so soft and naive, so unused to war and hard labour.

They were silent again for sometime, both standing close while keeping watch. The crackle and hiss of the fire behind them keeping them company.  
“There is such equality where you live; it sounds as if people’s lives aren’t dictated by their secondary gender.” The Prince said in a whimsical tone, as if the whole premise sounded magical.  
“Everyone works hard to achieve a common goal. Some are better suited to the life that, perhaps in Beacon’s Light, only an Alpha could lead.”  
“Tell me about Triskelion again?” Stiles asked gently, staring off into the distance as if he were being told a story at bedtime.  
Derek chuckled and looked over at the Prince, “I feel I should have drawn you a picture by now.”  
“Does it bother you that I ask so often?”  
“No of course not, it pleases me that you are so interested.”  
“I’ve never been anywhere,“ Stiles rested his bow against the wall and crossed his arms, leaning on the cold stone, “I’m never allowed to speak to the travellers and merchants who come into the city and speak to my father or brother, but I’ve over heard a few stories.”

“Well then, I’ll begin with Triskelion again, but when we have more time I’ll tell you about all my travels, as many times as it pleases you. But first-“ Derek unclasped his thick wolf cape from his shoulders and draped it over the Prince. At the Prince’s shocked expression the General hastened to explain, “If I’m to converse longer here with you, then I wish you to be warm.”  
Stiles stood up straight and tentatively touched the cloak. The act of an Alpha placing their own cloak upon an Omega’s shoulder was a marriage tradition, but perhaps it was not a tradition in Triskelion. Swallowing his nerves the Prince was unsure how to respond. Reject the offer since he was betrothed or accept the simple kindness? Knowing the Alpha was still standing behind him, Stiles cleared his throat uneasily and made up his mind. “I cannot wear a cloak when I’m on duty, if I need my bow I cannot allow it to hinder me.”  
“Then I promise to remove it before you’ve even reached for an arrow.”  
“Alright then.” The Prince smiled and pulled the cloak higher up on his shoulders, feeling secure in that it was simply a kind gesture nothing more. Dropping his hands to his side his fingers smoothed through the thick fur. 

Satisfied, Derek turned towards the horizon and spoke, “The fortification and village sit upon a stout outcrop, surrounded by flat lands and rivers. The view stretches for miles in every direction; during the day you can see as far as these mountain tops. To the northwest runs a wide river, it cuts through the mountains and is always alive with fish. I believe this is the river Katarin that begins at the base of your mountain.”  
Stiles nodded his head in confirmation, it was pleasing to know that something he was familiar with travelled through to the Alpha Hales home.  
“To the east the lands stretch far into the horizon, with only a small cluster of trees or an outcrop to obstruct the gaze. And to the south, the lands rise into a steady hill, sloping towards to the harbour cities of Glenn and Thornbill. From the highest tower you can see all about you. At night with the mountains rising in the distance and the land stretching off into a haze, I’ve never felt so small yet so connected to the earth.  
Here the night sky is always covered, but in Triskelion the night sky is open and filled with many stars, they stretch long and wide like a serpent. It’s so bright and clear. It definitely makes being on guard duty far easier.”  
“You on guard duty? But you’re the Head Alpha.”  
Derek smirked, noting the lack of his title ‘King’, “And yet you are on guard duty.”  
Stiles frowned, “During wartime of course. But surely you’re not always on guard for an attack?”  
“I am a mercenary, but also a King my Prince. I take pride in actively protecting what is mine. When you were not at war, you had men on watch every night.”  
Stiles looked down at his arrows and pursed his lips, “I believe we must have, I did not take notice.”  
Derek pushed back from the crenel and stretched, “too busy in the palace?”  
“In the library.”  
“Of course, the scholarly Prince.” Derek smirked.  
“I do miss my library.” Stiles sighed.  
Stepping behind the Prince Derek gently placed his hands on the boys shoulders and leaned closer. As he spoke he began to remove his cloak, “This war will soon come to an end my Prince.”  
Stiles turned once the cloak fell from his shoulders and shyly smiled up at the Alpha, “Goodnight, General.”  
Derek bowed, resisting the urge the kiss the boys lips, he would have that opportunity soon enough. “Good night, my Prince.”


	2. The Mercenary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Danke to DarkAthena for being a thorough Beta :>  
> [Look at what I made for myself :B](http://stickythings.tumblr.com/post/172652839200/i-made-this-ok-thing-for-myself-and-my-fic-heart)

The Prince lounged back in his rose and lavender scented bath. The warm steam rose from the hot water in long drags, curling up to the vaulted ceiling of his room. Beside him on a stool sat his lady-in-waiting, Lady Lydia; A highborn Beta from the House of Martin.

The Prince’s personal bath was a work of art; made from pure silver and carved with intricate designs of the mountains and long told legends. The large stone fireplace to the side of his room was keeping the chill of the mountain at bay.

“I wish we had rose-hip buttermilk,” Lydia muttered, smoothing a rag of linen over the Prince’s delicate fingers.

“Those luxuries will have to wait until after the war,” Stiles sighed, leaning his head back against the velvet cushion resting against his neck. “The buttermilk had to be used elsewhere.”

“By the time the war is over your beautiful hands will be as callused as a common Alpha’s.” Lydia dipped the rag into a small bowl of scented oil and returned to soothing the Prince’s hand. “Those leather braces you wear are not protecting your skin nearly enough.”

“I will count myself lucky if I come out of this war with only roughened hands, Lydia.”

“I don’t like it,” Lydia smoothed the rag between his fingers, paying close attention to his pads and fingertips.

Stiles closed his eyes and enjoyed the quiet, he had ended watch duty just before eleven and he was pleased to be back in his warm room enjoying a long soak.

“Have you considered what area of the palace you’ll request once you’re bonded to Captain Raeken?”

Stiles frowned and took a deep breath in agitation; he did not like speaking of his betrothed.  “I haven’t actually.”

“Perhaps since the East Wing was damaged during the siege you could request it to be remodelled as your wing,” Lydia suggested, her voice high with enthusiasm.

“Perhaps.”

“Have you thought of what you’ll request as a mating gift?”

“No, I have not.” Stiles frowned and sunk lower into the water. Lydia gently placed his hand on the side of the bath and reached over for his other.

“Perhaps a trip to meet the High King himself? Oh, Stiles, you would adore the city of shining city of Hallenfall!”

“Yes, I suppose I would.”

“I cannot wait to see your bonding ceremony clothing! And your new clothing once you are a Husband, you barely fit into any of your older clothes.”

Stiles smiled and rolled his shoulders, “It’s true I have grown quite a bit in these past three years, and I don’t want to grow accustomed to wearing leather armour.”

“You thought you looked dashing the first time you wore it,” Lydia laughed.

“But once it’s become like a second skin, along with the dirt, blood, and sweat, it’s no longer as romantic as I originally fantasized.”

“It is such a shame you cannot wear the beautiful silver armour like Captain Raeken wears.”

Stiles ‘hmmed’ in agreement and stretched out his toes, “It’s far too impractical for archery.”  

They were silent for a moment before Lydia spoke once more. “What was the last courting gift that the Captain gave you?”

Stiles turned his gaze to a gold and ruby brooch lying on his bedside table.  “The brooch and belt, though I rarely have occasion to wear them.”

Lydia ‘hmmed’ and smiled to herself, “The Raekens are the most renowned jewellers of the Age, I’ve never seen such work to rival it, not outside of Hallenfall of course.”

“Yes,” Stiles sighed, lifting his leg and watching the water cascade back into the bath, “though he is not Royalty.”

Lydia pursed her lips, “No, he is not, though he is very high born, I don’t believe there is another suitor in Beacons Light that is more appropriate. And I do believe your father wishes to keep you close. You are lucky you aren’t being married off to some distant Prince at the edge of the Land.”

“That is true, though the thought of traveling to distant places that I’ve only read about is exciting.”

“You will have the opportunity to travel my Prince, Captain Raeken is a reasonable Alpha, and no doubt he would be excited to show you off in the royal courts.”

“Do you miss the Capital, Lydia?” Stiles said, growing tired of the conversation.

Lydia finished manicuring the Prince’s hand and stood from her stool to retrieve his linen robe. “I miss the Knight I left behind.”

“Sir Whittemore?” Stiles queried, standing from the bath and allowing Lydia to wrap it around his form before stepping out on the rug beneath.

“Yes.” Lydia took a step back and looked down, folding her hands in her lap.

Stiles walked over to the fireplace and plucked a black walnut from a gold dish on a side table. “When the war is over I shall give you leave and an allowance to go visit your sweetheart.”

“I thank you, Highness. You’re very generous.”

Lydia wiped the prince down and replaced the now wet linen robe with one made of crushed velvet.

Stiles smiled back at his favorited lady-in-waiting and sat down to his supper. On the silver platter was a dish he was having to become accustomed to. The war and the two-year long siege had depleted their food stores, the inability to trade and reap the benefits from local farms had taken there toll. Where in the past the Prince would have sat down to a succulent roast pheasant cooked in plum sauce alongside sweetened poached apples, topped with crushed almonds, and, for dessert, he would have a rice pudding and an almond cream tart. He now ate mountain goat quiche with a wedge of fine cheddar cheese laid upon the cities specialty Elderberry bread. For dessert, he would simply eat a handful of walnuts, occasionally stewed in honey. It was undesirable but necessary to live as the commoners no doubt lived, they were under siege after all.

 

*

Although it was nearing midnight, Stiles had been summoned to meet his brother in his study. While he would have preferred to slip into his nightshirt he was now dressed in the last remaining Princely clothing that still fit about his shoulders. A soft linen shirt was matched with the tight-fitting jerkin which was rich blue velvet and was embroidered with silver leaves and flowers. Black hose and blue velvet slippers were appropriate given the time of night. Standing by his bedside table Stiles fiddled with the broach the Captain had given him, sighing to himself he pinned it under his collar and retrieved the matching belt. The Captain’s courting gifts, as custom, had been given to him in the presence of his father and brother. It was thought to be uncouth to give courting gifts to an Omega while their Alpha kin were not present. When not wearing his armour his father and brother expected him to wear his gifts for all to see.

As he was pulling the ruby and gold belt from the trunk at the end of his bed he came across a small token that the Wolf Clan General had given him when they first met.

The mercenaries had been in the city for three weeks before Stiles had the opportunity to speak to the General by himself. Previously he had only seen the General speaking to his father, or fighting in the thick of battle below the city walls. The Prince had never seen an Alpha like him in his life. He was brutish but surprisingly kind and gentle. Their first meeting had taken place after a devastating battle below the city walls. The Prince and archers were pushed to the limit as they tried desperately to keep the enemy from surrounding the soldiers below. It was through the Prince’s direction and inspired leadership that the soldiers were not overrun, the flurry of arrows that pierced armour with deadly accuracy had given the ground troops enough breathing room to re-organize and push the enemy back.

After the battle everyone gave a sigh of relief at being alive, their exhausted bodies still being pushed to retrieve the injured and dead. There was no feast or celebration; it was just another battle in a long drawn out war.

Yet the General had noticed the consequence of his actions atop the wall.

Late that evening the Alpha cornered him outside the mess hall. His voice had been softer than he had expected, and when he took his hand and placed a kiss upon it in greeting the Prince felt himself blush. The warrior’s lips were soft but contrasted heavily with the scratch of his stubble.

As the Alpha straightened, a small carved arctic fox had been pressed into his hands, a private smile accompanying the action as the Alpha curled his strong hand around the Princes. “A small gift, for my saviour; the courageous Captain of the Wall.”

 

~

Stiles rolled the carved fox about in his hand for a moment. The carving was crude in design, and Stiles had never been given such an amateur gift. He had only ever been given jewellery, clothing, or musical instruments of the highest craftsmanship. Yet the roughly carved fox appeared to hold such a casual intimacy and informality that all other gifts lacked. It was charming. Furthermore, Stiles liked to think of it as his first War Trophy, an acknowledgment of his abilities that stretched beyond gender and princely expectation.

Smiling back at the sharp expression of the fox the Prince placed it back in the chest, hidden under an old gown.

 

*  
**Noon**.

 

General Derek Hale of the Wolf Clan strode through the city centre, flanked by his Lieutenant Jordan and Boyd commander of his scouts. Cutting through the square that was no doubt once a vibrant marketplace, now turned ironworks for armoury and weaponry, they passed Beacon soldiers and mercenaries alike. Making their way past the tavern then the boardwalk that led to the large water wheel; the heart of the city and the source of the people’s survival, they took the steep Western steps that lead to the palace doors.

Once inside the large cavernous palace entrance they were ushered up the flagstone stairwell towards the throne room. The large throne room was lit with candles and the many bronze and copper sheets among the mountain walls caused the room to glow with golden light. The room was long, with a dais at the end of the room where two gilded thrones sat.

They sat empty.

On each side of the large room sat two large doors. On the far right stood the War Room door; a large Oak door with carvings of the Mountains fashioned with numerous rubies and sapphires. Surprisingly though, next to the large door sat the Omega Prince. He was sat on a guard’s chair, with his bow and a quiver of arrows resting against the wall, and his leather armour had been oiled and it carried with it the same warm glow of the throne room.  

Derek and his men neared the War Room door, their escorting guard now retreating down the stairs. As they drew closer the Prince's head snapped up, his eyes wide with concern. Quickly rising to his feet, he strode over until he was a hands width away from the General.

“They still won’t allow me to attend, even though I am told this could very well be our last battle,” Stiles said, sounding distressed. Unwittingly he placed his hand upon Derek’s wrist, circling his long fingers around, his eyes wide with worry and fear. “My brother told me you plan to leave the safety of the wall and flank the enemy.”

Gently cupping the Princes elbow, he drew him closer while motioning to his men to enter the War Room ahead of him. Once his men had left, and the large oak door closed Derek nodded softly.

“I have a strategy that could win this war.”

“But you have to flank the enemy with only a small band of soldiers!” Stiles stepped closer, the Generals hand now pressed against his chest, the tip of his boots touching the Alphas.

Derek smiled softly at the Prince, “Do you not have faith in my abilities?”

Ducking his head Stiles huffed, “Of course I do. But my father tried this, before we were besieged, it hasn’t worked.”

“Please, my sweet Prince, trust in me. Have faith. I have been at war since I was thirteen years of age. I know of the dangers, and I know how to win. I would not put my soldiers in unnecessary danger nor would I leave you unprotected.”

Taking a deep breath, Stiles slowly took a step back, his hand still clutching the Alphas wrist.

“I am counting on you to hold the wall when the enemy crashes against it.”

“I will do my duty, General, I will not allow a single enemy to scale the walls.”

“I have complete faith in you.”

“I will protect you from the wall, General. If at any moment I see that you’re in mortal danger I will let my arrow fly with all my fury and pierce the heart of the solider that would strike you down.”

“I am truly honoured by your attention, My Prince.”

Stiles nodded his head and bit his lip. He was becoming overwhelmed with emotions. In the past, it was expected of an Omega to become easily emotional and prone to fits of hysteria, but he was a Captain now. This shouldn’t be happening anymore.

He went to take another step back and to release his loose hold on the Alpha's solid wrist but paused when the General began to speak.

“My Prince-“, Derek began tentatively, curling his hand about the Omegas and drawing him closer once more.

  
“If you fall in battle I will fight to my dying breath. I would rather die than surrendering my city to the enemy,” Stiles promised solemnly.

Gently stroking the Prince's cheek Derek smiled, “You are truly brave, a beautiful quality.”

Stiles sighed out a ragged breath, his wide amber eyes shining with emotion. “I-“ The Prince reached for his dagger with his spare hand, “-I wish to give you my favour.”

Allowing the Prince's hand to fall from his, Derek watched as the Prince tugged at the traditional silk blue scarf about his neck. Raising the dagger, he cut a strip away before tucking it in and hiding the tear. Placing the dagger back in its sheath, Stiles looked up at the Alpha through his lashes and tentatively handed him the strip of blue silk, “Please. For luck.”

Smiling, and resisting the strong urge to kiss the prince's plush lips Derek took the favour. He kept eye contact with the blushing prince as he loosened the laces on his chest piece so that he could squeeze a hand between the thick firm leather and his coarse linen aketon covering his chainmail. Placing the favour deliberately over his heart he tied his laces up and reached for the Prince's hand.

Bringing the Omega's hand up to his mouth, he allowed his lips to brush against the soft skin uncovered by the leather braces. The Prince's breath hitched and the Alpha allowed his eyes to slip closed for a moment, aware they were in plain sight but uncaring, he was not one to miss such an opportunity. His lips parted and he placed a gentle kiss on the prince's palm, then curled his fingers around it.

Opening his eyes and straightening up he slowly drew the Prince's hand against his heart and spoke low, “I promise to return to you, My Prince.”

“May Talos protect you.”

“What need do I have of Gods when I have you on my side?” The Alpha smiled back before departing.

The Prince was left feeling bereft but still filled with determination and tenacity as the General left his side and entered the War Room.

 

*  
**The War room.**

As Derek entered he gestured for his two lieutenants to come closer as the other generals surrounding the table spoke to one another with urgency. Boyd and Jordan stood close, inclining their heads with an air of secrecy.

“I am to make a demand on this King; I need your support throughout the meeting. But fear not, whatever threats they may make will be idle.”

“If I may, what exactly is the nature of your demand?" Boyd asked.

“One that in time will legitimize our Clan's sovereignty.”

Derek broke from their small cluster and walked towards the table, the generals were now quietening down.  

All were in attendance for what could be the final War meeting for Beacons Light. The Prince Heir stood next to his father and was busy in conversation with the Royal Strategist while the King sat on his throne overlooking the large detailed map that lay on the circular stone table. About the table were standing every general from every squadron; their silver armour in stark contrast to the mercenary leader Derek Hale as he stood directly across from the King. To the side of Derek stood Boyd and Jordan. Pieces of gold and obsidian were placed on the map to represent troop placement.

Each Light General took a turn to inform the King of their troop’s placement and their preparation for the final battle. Then, at last, the King gestured for the Wolf Clan general to speak.

“All the preparations have been made; my troops are poised and ready,” Derek stated, gesturing to Boyd who clasped a fist to his heart and bowed. The man had done a fine job of getting his scouts close to the enemy without being seen.

“Good, you are to leave through the mountain pass so that their spies do not see you.” King Stilinski waved his hand as he studied the map. He had been in conference with his strategists to find another alternative that did not rely so heavily on trusting the Wolf Clan but to no avail.

“Of course. If I may, I have one proposal before I leave.”

A disgruntled murmur coiled about the room, each general shooting the mercenary general a look of contempt.

“Yes, what is it?” the King asked with a weary sigh.

“As I said; my troops are poised and ready to leave, yet their destination relies completely upon your answer,” Derek stated, pulling his shoulders back.

“Pardon?”

“I have a request to make your majesty and depending on your reply I may take my troops to the hilltop or take them back to Triskelion.”

“Are you blackmailing my father!?” Prince Scott shouted, gauntlet-clad hand falling to his sword. Several generals stood in his way, but he could have the man cut down with a swift order.

“I would not put it so crudely, your highness. Merely striking a deal,” Derek calmly stated, addressing the Prince and making sure his hands were placed passively upon the table.

 

The King reclined back into this throne. Of course, why hadn’t he seen it coming? It wasn’t enough that they were paying these barbarian mercenaries to defend them, but now they chose to extort them on the eve of battle.

“Very well, what is your request?”

“Your Omega son's hand in marriage.”

The room erupted in an uproar, Light Generals shouting and trying to shove at the Wolf Clan general, but Jordan and Boyd held them back.

“Out of the question! He is betrothed.” Prince Scott shouted, too shocked to pull his sword from its scabbard and cut down the upstart Alpha.

“But he is not mated, not yet-“ Derek stated, crossing his arms. He stared back at the King as he spoke, “-Either you give your son to me and win the war, or I leave your city to burn.”

“This is blackmail! Father, you cannot allow it!”

“You overstep your position, General Hale. My kingdom is in your debt, but that debt is soon to be paid in full once the war has ended. Are you proposing an increase in price?”

“I will honour the agreement made by both Clans, but I am an Alpha without an Omega mate, I believe it would be beneficial for both our kingdoms.”

“Kingdom? You control a small portion of flatlands and yet you call it a Kingdom? You are no King and do not deserve a Prince!” The Prince Heir shouted, his face red with fury.

“Your majesty, you know my price for victory; the decision is entirely yours now.” Derek gave the King a moment, he could see the heavy realisation dawn upon him. And while the Prince Heir and the Generals were still shouting and trying to cause a fist fight in the War Room he knew he would have the answer he wanted.

“Very well. General Derek Hale of the Wolf Clan, if you win this war, destroy the Uruk army, and bring my land peace then I will grant you my son's hand in marriage.”

Derek bowed to the King, “I will want assurances, your majesty. A bonding ceremony within the week and your word that no malicious attempt will be made on my life, or on the life of my soldiers.”

King Noah looked wearily at the map, then back up at the barbarian Alpha. “Very well, you have my word. I will have my advisors meet with yours to draw up a bonding contract this evening.”

“Thank you, your highness. I will not disappoint you. Within two days you will be able to peacefully walk outside your city walls.”

The King looked away and waved the mercenary general off. “Go with Talos, General, and win me this war.”

Derek clasped his fist to his chest and bowed. The mercenaries left the War Room.

Thankfully outside the Prince had already left, and Derek was quick to send Boyd on his way to give word to the troops.

  


“Are you out of your mind!” Jordan hissed, rounding on his General once they were out of sight.

Derek held his head high, leather-clad fist resting on the pommel of his sword with his shoulders pulled back. “Try that again, Lieutenant.”

Jordan huffed under his breath in agitation, “Blackmailing the King for his son’s hand in marriage. How does this legitimize our Clan? This will put a target on our backs!”

“He’s a Prince! Triskelion will have a Royal representative, and in time our children will be able to legitimize our Clan, Triskelion will become a Capital!” Derek growled and turned away from his lieutenant. Running a hand across his beard he looked back as the other Alpha stepped closer and spoke.

“And what of the Prince! Is he to be another pawn in your grand plans! He’s just a boy, he will not forgive you!”

“He is not a pawn! I chose him as mine the moment we first met,” Derek snarled, leaning forward. His bulk seemed to tower around the younger Alpha. “It was the only way to secure him!”

“He’s a Prince, Derek! What makes you think anything good can come of this!”

“I know him!”

“You’ve known him for eight months, and in that time-“

“I know he is courageous-“ Derek bit out, his fist now wrapped around his sword, his other hand flat and firm on its side at it prodded Jordan’s armour, “-I know he is loyal, intelligent, kind, beau-“

“These things mean nothing! You had no right!”, Swatting the hand away from his chest Jordan took a step back.

“He gave me his favour!” Derek shouted, the large cavernous walls echoing the sound for several moments. At this point it mattered none if anyone heard, the Prince's fate was sealed.

“He is just a boy! A boy who has never stepped foot outside these walls!”

“He may be sheltered, but he is no fool! I have been courting him and today when he knew I was going into battle he gave me his favour.”

Derek huffed out a breath and tried to ease the tension in his shoulders. Some part of him knew that Jordan was corrected, that he had essentially blackmailed the boy’s father into marrying him. But unlike Jordan, he knew that Stiles would happily elope with him given the opportunity. And Derek had made the opportunity. He did not have the luxury of Princes and Kings, he had to use his wits and brute strength to get what he wanted. In every aspect of his life, it had worked, and it would work again.

“Derek-“ Jordan began with a sigh, “-the Prince is on the cusp of adulthood, perhaps he did not understand the gravity of such an action.”

“Do you find his affections for me so unbelievable?”

“I don’t doubt them, but the boy is sheltered and naive. He could not have possibly known that bonding with you could be a possibility. You know as well as me, that for someone so unused to war the heart can long to feel full again -”

“He loves me, Jordan-“ Derek hissed, riled up once more at the idea that the affection that was felt between them was simply a passing daydream or fantasy to help dull the ache of war.   “-he was trapped, he was clearly unhappy with Raeken, and now I’ve freed him.”

Jordan sighed and spun around. Lolling his head back onto his shoulders he looked up at the ceiling and shut his eyes. “I hope you are right Derek. I do not wish to see this turn sour, or to incur the wrath of the Royal family.”

“You’ve shared enough of your opinion-“ Derek strode passed his lieutenant, “-I will hear nothing more on the matter. We have a war to win.”

*

 

The Prince was waiting upon the parapet walk of the outer wall. All preparations were being made to prepare the archers and stock the wall. He had a moments rest to stare out into the distance, searching the dark horizon in case an enemy was sighted or the Wolf Clan had been attacked.

The mercenaries had made their exit from the city a quiet and hidden affair. They did not want to cause panic or let word spread to the Uruk spies.

Stiles blew out a frosty breath and leaned against the crenel, the low point of the wall between the merlons. The deep chill was quickly descending from the mountain tops, and within weeks they would feel the brunt of winters descent. He tried not to think too much of the mercenary general, but the Alpha was taking a great risk, and furthermore, only a handful of light foot soldiers had volunteered to join the Wolf Clan on their perilous mission. He let himself entertain fanciful thoughts for a moment; imaging General Hale knighted by his father, given beautifully crafted silver armour and a place in the army of Beacon's Light. Surely that was the dream of every mercenary. To eventually be employed by a great King, be given security and a place in society. His best men would be knighted also.

The Prince would then be allowed to keep his friendship with the Alpha. They would live in the city, and no doubt Knight Derek Hale would be given a high position within the Royal Army, it would only be natural for Stiles to see him often.

Stiles was pulled from his thoughts when he heard his name called by a servant.

“Your highness, your brother the Prince Heir wishes your presence within his chamber.”

Stiles nodded to the servant and followed the Beta from the parapet down the stone stairwell.

No doubt his brother was wanting to give him last moment orders regarding his archers.

 

His brother's office was a large and richly decorated room. Red velvet and dark ebony wood furnishings and silver trinkets caught the visitor's eye first. In the past visitors would then admire the many swords and various weapons that hung on the wall, but those days of weapons used merely for art was long behind. Every weapon that his brother had collected had been used, and many broken in battle at this point.

Prince Scott was sitting at his velvet covered round dining table near the large stone fireplace. He was rolling a gold goblet in his hands in agitation before filling it up from a matching pitcher at the table.

“Please Miez’, come in.” The servant closed the door behind the young Prince and Stiles walked over to his brother.

“Sit,” Scott ordered, turning away from his brother to stare into the flames.

They both sat in silence for a moment. Scott drank heavily from his goblet, and Stiles waited patiently for his brother to speak. The crackle and hiss of the fire the only sound in the room.

While Stiles was anxious for his brother to give him news or new orders, it was unbecoming of him to speak first to his superior. His father and brother always stated that when he was young before he learned his manners and place in the world, he had been too talkative and too noisy. Now Stiles sat quietly, but he still tapped his fingers against his thigh in agitation.

“There is no delicate way to state this.” Scott began, placing the goblet on the table and resting his hands on his thighs.

“Please, brother, what bothers you?” Stiles moved forward slightly, his agitation and anxiety growing.

“I-I need you to prepare yourself. I believe father may withdraw his decision to wed you to the Captain of the Royal Guard.”

Stiles sat motionless for several moments, he was aware of his alpha brother starting at him, gauging his reaction. Even so, he couldn’t keep the smile from spreading.

“You’re not troubled?” Scott asked, aghast.

“Oh, well Theo is a respected Alpha and I-“ Stiles paused, too overcome with a strange sense of relief. “-I’m glad Father finally saw reason.”

“Reason?”

“Yes, to stay unmated and keep my title of Captain. The military is where I am meant to be, not shut up in some bedchamber. I can make a real change here. I honestly thought Father wouldn’t agree. I had hoped he would see my ability on the battlefield. I’m a soldier after all.”

“A soldier?” Scott stood and rubbed a hand over his face, “I knew he should never have allowed you atop the wall," he muttered to himself. “Miez’, you forget yourself. You’re an Omega, your title of Captain will mean nothing once this war is finished.”

“You cannot say that! I’ve been at the front of the fighting! The people know what I’ve done for them!” Stiles shot up from his seat.

Scott frowned but didn’t reprimand his brother for his attitude. “The people will remember, and it will be a fun story to tell your children, but you’re an Omega first, a Prince second, and a Captain last.”

“When I’m on the front I am a Captain first!” Stiles sneered, clenching his fist and getting into his brother's space. And that was enough of a confirmation for Scott to realize that he was right; Stiles was picking up some terrible traits by being in the military and being around Alphas all day. This had to stop.

“Once this war is finished, there won’t be a front line! And once this war is finished I will be giving you an honourable discharge!”

“You cannot do that! On what damn grounds would you have to dismiss me!?”

“I’m your damn superior officer! Furthermore, I’m your Alpha brother, I have reason enough and I can do with you as I wish.”

“Brother, what-“ Stiles searched about the room for a moment in agitation confusion, -“I demand to know the reasons for my future discharge!”

Scott let out a heavy breath and rubbed at his eyes, “The war will be over, why would you damn well stay there?”

“It’s my place-“

“Your place is to be mated! If you continue to argue I will give you a damn dishonourable discharge for insubordination.”

“Scott!”

“Enough!”  

Stiles stood silent for a moment, shocked as his perfect future burnt in front of him. “Bu-but, Scott! Please please please.” Stiles grabbed his brothers arm, “Alpha, please!” he whined, desperate to have some control over his own fate.  

“I will not hear it! Look at yourself! What are you turning into? It’s disgusting!” Scott growled, pulling away from his brother.

“But, Alpha!”

“You forget your place! When this is all finished you will be mated,” Scott snapped and turned away, unable to look at his snivelling brother any longer. He turned out of his room, not wanting to tell his brother who he was now betrothed to. And honestly, he doubted his brother could take any more information about his wellbeing.

  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Golly, thank your for all the interest and lovely comments, tis very motivating :>


	3. The Battle

Stiles rose before dawn. His anxiety of today’s events and the previous night had caused him to fall into a tense and uncomfortable sleep. Two years in the military had conditioned him to wake alert and prepared.  At the beginning of the war the war veterans of the city had told the soldiers never to eat before a battle. That it was best to have the body fasted and pure before dealing with such violent acts. However, as the siege waged on, the once sage advice was pushed aside as the soldier’s fatigue only grew. Now, as Lady Lydia checked over his armour, he ate a small breakfast of dandelion tea and cold meat pie made up from leftovers of the previous night's supper. The pastry was hard and inedible, and so the prince could eat from it like a bowl as he shrugged on his aketon.

The thick linen jacket had been washed and perfumed and Stiles breathed in the calming scent of lavender as Lydia tied the laces on the front.

Lady Lydia had learnt never to speak in the mornings whilst the prince was being dressed for duty. It had caused a row when Stiles was first appointed to the Wall, with the Lady begging the prince to stay inside and give his position to someone less important.

Her caring yet selfish behaviour had caused a rift to grow between them and the prince did not know how to express his disappointment in the Lady.

 

Once his aketon was laced and a fresh pair of hosen pulled on, he stepped into his boots and tied up his leather calf greaves. Next were his leather tassets; armour made from plates of leather that cascaded down the hips to mid-thigh, with an added couple of shaped plates to cover the groin. Leg protection was often unnecessary for an archer on the Wall, but his father had insisted he be as protected as was practical.

Next Lady Lydia helped place his pixane over his head to rest about his shoulders. The ring of chainmail was once uncomfortable and heavy, but now the prince enjoyed the weight.

Last came his leather cuirass. A fitted, and sleeveless breastplate of the finest leather and studs. His lady in waiting buckled the sides tightly as the prince tied his leather gauntlets.

Originally his father had insisted on steel armour, while not only impractical for archery it would draw attention to him upon the wall. His father soon saw the reasoning behind letting him fit in with the other archers, and Stiles was glad for it. Upon the wall there were no genders or class. They were comrades, and today could very well be the last day he fought alongside them.

 

*

Upon reaching the wall Stiles inspected their supplies and ordered more where lacking. Looking out into the distance, where the stars were slowly disappearing to the morning light, the prince thought of the mercenary general and how they fared. They had bet this final battle on the Wolf Clan. The blacksmiths had been working throughout the night to insure every soldier was armed to the teeth. While the alchemists and peasants had crafted numerous defences should the walls be breached.

Along the entire length of the wall the archers stepped into formation; 1.5 metres apart, with a crate stock full of arrows, replacement bows, and a crude bowl of tar between them should they wish to alight their arrows with the burning torches that lined the walls.

Stiles had always feared that the breach would not come from the great doors below, but instead that the enemy would finally be able to scale the walls with siege towers or great ladders.

They had come close in the past, and Stiles had nearly fainted as a ladder had smacked into the wall ahead of him. With only a dagger for protection for close quarters combat Stiles could barely breath. The archers and soldiers below had cut the enemy down and cut the ladders to the ground, crushing soldiers underneath.

The prince had once wished that the enemy armies marched as they did in stories. That their battle drums could be heard over the hills as they approached. It was meant to inspire fear, but he now knew any warning of the enemies’ approach would only prepare the soldiers. Now they waited in the eerie silence of dawn.

Overhead the flags laid still and each archer waited with their bow and bowstring, ready to bend their bow and tie the string to the nock at first sight of an enemy. A bow would lose its strength left taut but idle, and so they waited until the last moment.

The ground troops were stationed in formation behind the Great door. The mercenary general had assured the king that the next attack would be one to draw the troops out, then to charge with cavalry.

But throughout the night, just before the prince woke there was news from the mercenaries that the enemy had four new trebuchets. The heavy weighted sling-shot like catapults had been destroyed in the first year of the siege, and luckily the Urks hadn't been able to replace them. Yet somehow, they had procured four new ones.

Although the news was terrifying and a very real threat to all archers upon the Walls, the mercenary scouts had sabotaged two others. If the enemy had sieged them with all four the war would have been won within hours.

Foot soldiers below had been rushing to all stationed archers delivering small shields to protect from flying debris.

As the sun rose, and the mist curled about the battle-scarred fields below, the very tops of the trebuchets would be seen over the crest. Each soldier tensed in prolonged anticipation as the war machines made their slow march forward. Stiles now knew from experience that the enemy would only place the trebuchets at two-hundred and seventy metres plus from the wall. The closest distance they could operate without being shot by the longbowmen. A highly skilled archer could pick the trebuchets workers off, one by one within two-hundred and sixty-five metres. Yet just that extra further had them out of reach. Stiles hoped the wind was in their favour.

 

*

Nothing could prepare a person for the first wave of a battle. The mind focused like a steel blade, down to the very tip every movement was precise. There was barely time to blink between notching your arrow, letting it fly, and notching a new one. The soldiers below became a highly focused target with no name or soul; just organs to pierce and heads to crack open. If you stopped and thought for a moment what was happening around you, tried to take the chaos in, you’d freeze and die.

 

The trebuchets had arrived, dragged by sweating oxen who were shielded from view and with them the first wave of soldiers. The first two shots from the trebuchets smashed into the inner city. It was merely a practice shot as they perfected their aim and covered the ground troops from the archer’s fires. Thankfully the trebuchets could only be reloaded once within the hour, and there came a pause as they restocked and the archers could do their worst.

Finally, the time came when the Great entrance was opened and out shot their ground troops. Battalion after battalion waged forth onto the field, and soon the enemy was overwhelmed. Within moments the prince could see the cavalry arrive atop the crest, their banners flying and their soldiers screaming their war cry. It felt as if every soldier took a breath of hope for the mercenaries. If they had failed the ground troops would be crushed and the city breached.

As the cavalry charged, there was an awful tense moment where everyone looked to the hill hoping to spy the mercenaries. Even still the ground troops dug their shields in and braced themselves for impact.

Then suddenly there came an explosion from the behind the hills, a mass of fire and smoke rose into the air. The enemy horses startled for a moment, disrupting their charge and throwing off riders.  Even as they continued to charge, some pulled back, looking over their shoulders in confusion. Yet before they could comprehend the full extent of what had occurred the Wolf Clan on their war steeds rode over the hill and pushed the panicked Urks forward.

The enemy horses at the front line continued, unaware they were being flanked.

The trebuchets fired two more shots before the mounted mercenaries and their foot soldiers reached the workers and cut them down.

The enemy was in a panic, unable to regroup or retreat the horses panicked and were quickly cut down.

Soon they were in the thick of battle below the Wall. The crush of bodies below and the screams would rattle him afterwards, as it always had, but at that moment there was only precision, instinct, with no room for thought or feelings. There is was only war.

 

*

No one could say how long the fighting went on below. Each archers crate of arrows had been re-stocked numerous times and dehydration would surely kill them before the enemy, but they kept fighting. Their arms quivering with each draw, their knees locked and their shoulders aching with each fire, the arrow shaking in the nock before it was loosed. Below the numbers of moving soldiers dwindled. The dead piled high and the thick flood of blood and organs from horse and soldier was visible from above. It was pure carnage as the fighting continued.

Sweat dripped into the prince's eye and he barely registered taking a swig of water from a pageboy before he was firing his arrow into the eye socket of an enemy below. The mass of steel and blood was too thick to spy the general in amongst the fight, but he knew the mercenaries kept a neat and tight formation. No doubt the general would be on the outer rim, cutting down the enemies before they could take his soldiers.

 

*

As a captain, the prince had to check the length of the Wall. Even with enemy arrows firing overhead he met with every archer, checked their spare bow, made sure they were hydrated, soothed the panicked, and helped the injured. It was during one such gruelling check of the troops when the tide of the war irrevocably shifted.

Stiles was helping a medic tie a tourniquet around an archer’s upper arm when the cheer of victory rose from the battlefield and was echoed back within the city walls.

A large grin stretched the prince's lips, “Do you hear that! We won! We Won!” The wounded archer gave him a relieved smile in return before passing out.

 

“Don’t fret, it’s just from shock, she’ll be well enough to join in on the celebrations” The medic replied with her own smile, “Now you must make haste your highness, your father will be wanted to see you.”

“Yes, yes of course!” Stiles stood up and moved out of the way as another medic came along to help take the archer to the medical bay below.

Rubbing a hand over his face Stiles grinned at his fellow archers before leaning over the wall and watching the cheering the soldiers below.

The sight, while ecstatically exciting and thrumming with an overwhelming feeling of relief, was also gory and sickening. In the past three years, and especially in the past two since Stiles had been on the outer wall, he had developed a way of skimming his eyes over the thousands of dead bodies unseeing, and instead focused on the band of mercenaries in the centre.

He could now make out the figure of the Wolf Clan leader as he made his way through the sea of bodies. As the cheering died down, numerous medics and soldiers left the protection of the wall in search of survivors on the battlefield. Wounded Urks were killed while Light soldiers were rescued from the festering quagmire.

Stiles jogged down the stone steps. Reaching the bottom, he began to make his way through the many people wanting to help on the field, but the rush paused as a group of mercenaries strode through the wide gates. The cheering began again, and Stiles joined in. The euphoria of victory washed over them all. This nightmare of an existence was finally over.

The mercenaries had never looked so barbaric yet heroic at that moment. Their leather armour was torn and in some places shredded. Blood, entrails and other matter was sprayed across their forms, and dark blood matted some of their hair. At the front stood Derek Hale, his face was bloody and dirty, but his smile wide and joyful. He thrust a small bag into the air and the people roared louder. Stiles’ cheering calmed down, and in that moment Derek looked across the crowd and spotted the prince.

Clapping people on the back as the crowd broke away to help with the clean-up, Derek strode over to Stiles. Stiles kept smiling, but his throat closed anxiously. The way Derek was looking at him, like a fierce predator who had cornered a wounded rabbit, made a thrill run through the prince. Before Stiles was ready Derek had moved in close and was grabbing his hand and pulling him away from the crowd. They passed the stone steps and moved towards the stone wall.

 

Pushing the prince into a small alcove originally filled with spare bows for the archers, yet now empty, Derek crowed him into the small space.

Behind Derek’s bulk the light faded and Stiles pressed back against the stone wall, trying not to stare at the Alphas consuming eyes.

“I am so pleased you’re safe, My Prince.” Derek snatched up the prince's hand and kissed it.

“As am I, General-“

“Have you heard the news?” Derek pressed in closer, the light from the evening sun fading behind his wide shoulders.

“That we are victorious?” Stiles laughed, feeling trapped and not understanding the Alphas odd behaviour. What if someone were to see them?

 

Derek chuckled and scrubbed at the drying blood from his nose. The small bag swung into view and Stiles reared back further so that it would not hit him.

“Apologies.” Derek chuckled.

“What…what is it?”

Derek grinned at him, “It is a gift for your father.” Taking a step back he pulled the rope from around the hessian bag and opened it up, “Do you think he’ll approve?”

Stiles blinked in the dark and looked into the bag, unsure what the general could have found out there. Unable to see anything, even as the Alpha widened the hole Stiles stepped closer and dipped his hand inside.

He was expecting to feel the cold touch of gold, but he jolted back in horror when his fingers brushed against the unmistakable feeling of human hair and the cold touch of skin.

“The head of the Uruk general.” Derek smiled, visually pleased with the barbaric treasure. “I cut it from his body myself.”

Stiles stumbled and back, his feet sliding against the floor as his eyes flew about the small room, he needed to get away.

“My Prince,” Derek tied the bag and dropped it at his feet, the dull thud only adding to Stiles’ panic. “Hush, I am sorry, I forget you are unused to such things.” He wrapped his arm around the prince's waist, pulling him in close.

 

Stiles’ fingers clasped onto the Alpha's shoulders, trying to push him away so that he could leave the stifling stone room, but the Alpha only pulled him in closer. The scent of blood and gore filled Stiles’ nose. His hands pressed against drying blood and against his will his eyes snapped up to look at the general. He had a slash across his cheek, but mostly appeared unharmed, the blood that freckled his face belonged to others.

“Please, calm down, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” Chuckling to himself Derek kicked the bag behind him and began to walk backwards, pulling the prince with him. They left the small alcove and the fresh air helped the prince calm a little.

“Now-“ Derek began, stroking the prince's cheek fondly, “-I have been waiting for this moment.”

“Please, General.” Stiles muttered, pressing against the Alpha, “I-I, please unhand me, I am shocked and cannot…”

Derek rested his forehead against the princes’ and smiled, “I believe you need a distraction.”

Without waiting for a reply Derek tipped the prince's head up and pressed his lips against his. Soft, plush and quivering Derek savoured the feeling of the Omega before brushing his tongue against the boys. Sweeping a hand up the prince's neck he cupped his jaw and angled his mouth to open. Feeling overcome with passion Derek thrust his tongue into his warm mouth. Groaning in satisfaction, he tightened his hold and breathed the boy in. The prince trembled in his arms, his mouth open and slack, but Derek could hear him whimper and it only strove to make Derek kiss him more passionately. He ran his tongue against the roof of the boy's mouth, traced across his teeth and teased his tongue, but still the prince was too shocked to respond beyond clutching fiercely at him and whimpering desperately into his mouth. Groaning Derek pulled back, nipping at the boy's plump lips one final time, before soothing it with his tongue.

Stiles’ eyes were clenched shut, a deep blush staining his dirty cheeks. Leaning close Derek pressed a kiss against his cheek before allowing his hand to travel down the boys back to settle on the prince’s bottom, pulling him flush against him.

Derek grinned back as Stiles' eyes shot open.

Taking delight in the prince's gaping mouth and wide eyes, Derek pulled the Omega closer and lent his forehead against his.

“Has your father told you?” Derek grinned, his hands flexing on where he held the prince, wanting to draw him in for another kiss but resisting.

“Please-“ Stiles tried to twist from the Alphas grip, turning his head away and trying to think through his panic, “-Please, General, this is so inappropriate, please unhand me, if my father saw you…”

Derek released him reluctantly and Stiles ducked his head and stepped away. Even Theo Raeken had never held him and touched him so inappropriately, but this man, a true friend of his had just stolen his first kiss.

“I-“ He began, but then realizing he was staring at his feet he lifted his head and spoke once more, “I forgive your impertinence this instance, General, I understand after the rush of battle…things may get confused-“ Stiles looked away, “-people become excited.”

Derek let out a laugh. “My apologies, my Prince. Forgive my behaviour.” He wiped the blood from his cheek and grinned back at the young man, “I believe your father will be able to shed light on why I am so delighted to see you, and why I wasn’t able to resist from kissing you.”

The prince snapped his gaze upward, his wide anxious eyes fixating on the Alphas smug expression.

“I…you should head to the medical bay.”

 

Stepping closer and snatching up the omegas hand Derek placed a firm kiss on the back before nodding, “Your wish is my command.” The general smirked and bent down to pick up the small hessian bag, shooting one last look at the prince he turned and walked away.

 

*

**In the Throne Room.**  
   
Stiles navigated his way through the busy Throne room towards his Father who was sitting on his throne with an air of relief yet looked deeply tired. His eyes snapped over to the dirty hessian bag that lay at his father’s feet, the blood oozing from the head inside was staining the floor. Stiles swallowed a lump in his throat as he quickly scanned the room. The general had already visited his father and given him his ‘prize’. Not seeing the mercenary leader in sight, he walked closer to his father.

“My son, my dear son. You acted bravely upon the Wall-“

“Father, I must speak to you privately.” He shot his brother a frightened look before looking back at his father beseechingly, “it’s about the general of the Wolf Clan.”

His father’s happy expression dropped quickly into frustration, “Yes, of course. We will talk in my chambers. Scott, join us.”

The royals left the throne room, bowing and giving thanks to various knights and generals as they left, and soon all three were standing in the king's opulent emerald coloured chambers.

Not bothering to sit down the king stood in the middle of the room near his seating area while Scott stood silently next to him. “What has he told you?”

Stiles wrung his hands and looked to the floor, “He told me nothing, only he…he was very pleased to see me, and said you would know the reason for his delight.”

The king ‘hmmed’ and walked over to a large wingback chair and sat. Scott still stood, his expression pinched and his shoulders pulled back.

 

“We have won this war, my sons.” King Noah looked gravely at both his sons, “but all war comes at a price. We have lost many lives, but the toll would be higher if it were not for the Wolf Clan. I begrudgingly respect and am grateful for all their support.”

“It is not true support when you have to pay the damn bastards,” Scott snapped.

The king carried on speaking, ignoring his son’s outburst, “I put my faith in General Hale. He said he could end this war if I let him orchestrate this last battle. He has gained my trust, he is a fine general.” The king paused for a moment before continuing. “The price for this victory did not come cheap-“

“He blackmailed us! The heathen!” Scott shouted and Stiles jolted in shock at the violent outburst.

“Please, Scott-“ The king waved him down then locked eyes with his youngest son. “-The general is a very cunning man, he knew we could not win this without him, that we would be left to burn should he desert us. And with his knowledge he gave me a choice. Either give into his demand, or he would take his mercenaries from the city and watch as the armies of Uruk swarmed the city.”

“What was the demand?” Stiles asked, his voice quiet and cautious. He was beyond shocked that the Alpha he knew would take such cruel advantage.

“He demanded your hand in marriage. I accepted. He won our war and now I must give you to him.”

Stiles took a step back, but felt his legs buckle. Scott rushed to his side and held him up. Stiles held onto his brother’s shoulders as he stared back at his father. His eyes filled with tears and his father looked away.

“Stiles, please.” Scott whispered, “We did not want this for you.”

“But…I don’t…” Stiles struggled to speak, too shocked and confused to think clearly. His whole future had suddenly been rearranged into a horrific design that he couldn’t understand. The Alpha that he thought was his friend had acted in such a _barbaric_ way that it left the prince reeling. This whole time everyone had warned him to stay away, that the mercenaries were barbarians and heathens, but he hadn’t listened, and now his future husband had won him by threatening to leave his city undefended. How could he marry such a man?

Stiles struggled from Scott’s hold and wiped at his eyes, “I will not bond with him, I can’t.”

King Noah rose from his chair and held his son by his elbows, pulling him into a hug. “Stiles, my dear treasure. While his methods are uncouth, I believe him to be a fine Alpha. You will do your duty. You were a fine Captain upon the wall, defending your city. You are defending her once again by bonding with the general.”

“I can’t, father.” Stiles felt tears drip from his chin and only then noticed he had begun to silently cry.

“You will!” The King gave him a quick shake. “I have agreed that you would be married within the week. You do not have to speak to the man before the bonding ceremony, but you will marry him.”

“But, father!-“

“Think of what his men can do to this city!-“ the king hissed, “I will not be made a fool of! I have given him my word and I will see no blood shed because of your damn emotional turmoil!”

“Father” Stiles sobbed.  
“Enough! There is no victory without sacrifice.” King Noah turned away from his crying son, “You may leave.”

Stiles ducked his head and gave a small nod. His feet caught on the carpet as he turned to leave the room but Scott was at his elbow to guide him out.  The euphoria of the victory had been drowned out by this sudden and frightening shock.

 

 

*

**Later that night.**

The victory celebrations were being arranged for the following night once the gates could be safely opened. But for now, many were busy in the medical bay, and scouts and soldiers were outside the walls searching for survivors of the Uruk army to kill them should they re-group.

Stiles was at least pleased that for this night he could curl up in his large bed and cry out his misery. His body ached with exhaustion and his mind swam with despair. He had sent Lydia away after a quick bath, and he had hoped that he would be alone for the rest of the night, but alas there was a knock at his door and in walked his brother.

“Oh my dear brother-“ Scott began as he walked about the bed to the side close to his blotchy faced brother, “-I never wished this upon you.”

“You knew-“ Stiles hiccupped, “-you knew that day when you said I would receive an-“ he wiped his nose and continued, “-honourable discharge, you knew then.”

“Yes, I did,” Scott soothed, resting a hand on a covered shoulder, “but you were already so upset, I simply didn’t have the heart to tell you.”

“I thought…I thought he was my friend.”

“My dear sweet brother-“Scott looked indulgently at his brother and took a rag from the bedside table and gave it to his brother to wipe his tears, “-you are too precious for this world.”

“That doesn’t help!” Stiles snapped.

The prince threw back his covers and glared at his brother, “You didn’t fight father on it! You just stood-“

“Stiles, stop! I was ready to cut that heathen down as soon as the demand left his lips! No one fought as hard against this marriage as me-“ Scott allowed his frustrated voice to drop into a gentle tone, “I love you, Stiles.”

Pulling his brother into a hug Scott soothed his back and rubbed his cheek against his dark hair.

“I will allow you this night to cry, but tomorrow you will act with dignity and obedience. You are to do your duty. And Stiles-“ he tipped his brothers chin up, “-I will do mine. I will find a way out of his marriage for you. I promise.”

“But you said-“

“I know Stiles. You will have to marry him; we cannot risk the mercenaries turning on us. But I may find a way for you to divorce him.”

“Divorce? But Scott I cannot be disgraced!”

“Please, Stiles-“ Scott grinned and ran a hand through his hair, “You are an Omega, the most coveted of all genders. You are a prince; beautiful and young. Once you are divorced from his brute you will have all manner of suitors who are equal to you.”

“But Scott, I said I don’t want-“

“Hush, it is the way of things. But just know you will not be bound to his heathen for long. I will free you and then your life will begin.” Stiles let out a heaving breath and hid his face in his brother’s shoulder.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to DarkAthena for the Beta! I'm super lucky to have a medieval fan as my Beta to pick up on the subtle medieval domestic details :) You are a champ
> 
> Thankies for all the reviews!  
> Comments inspire and motivate me to write faster. I'd like to update every weekend so lets see how that goes!


	4. The Banquet

 

Prince Mieczyslaw Stiles stood upon the outer wall, bereft of his hardened leather armour, bow and quiver he instead wore the appropriate attire his station required. A crushed blue velvet doublet coupled with a white linen billowing shirt and tan hose, he still wore his old military standard boots. Although worn and tattered, they were still comfortable. Being unarmed and wearing such unpractical clothes if an attack was launched made him feel uneasy as he stared at the few commoners clearing the blood stained fields below as the sun began to dip the hills. The bright silver and blue flag barring the cities standard flapped noisy overhead and the work of many busy commoners sounded below.  
Instead of wearing the ruby broch and belt given by his past betrothed, he now wore two polished silver medals. One had an engraved image of three flying arrows soaring across a rising sun, while the other had an image of a roaring lion coupled with a bright red rosette bordering the medal. Both were given to him, along with hundreds of other soldiers, captains, lieutenants and generals by his farther in the Great Hall. The Honouring Ceremony had taken place only hours ago, and while Stiles was resenting many aspects of his current life, especially receiving an honourable discharge, he was gladdened to be awarded the Flying Arrows of Extraordinary Leadership, and the Lion of Courage, Fortitude and Loyalty.   
  
“Your Highness!” Stiles turned and saw Captain Theo Raeken walking towards him, still wearing his polished armour but now adorning the medals for Golden Sceptre of Leadership Under Duress and the Golden Mountain of Exceptional Loyalty to the Royal House.   
“You should not be up here.” The Captain said, standing tall and imposing next to the prince.

“I used to frequent these walls.”  
  
The Captain sighed before speaking, “There is no longer a need for you to be here, you should be in the Palace. The Banquet will begin shortly.”  
  
“I came for fresh air.” Stiles frowned at the Captain and turned away. They had barely talked since the final battle, and he had not been present while his father gave the Captain the bad news of their betrothal.

  
“You came alone. The war is over, and as Prince you need a chaperone always.”  


Stiles ducked his head and fiddled with his lacy cuff, “I thank you Captain Raeken, but I assure you I am quite safe.”  
  
“Come, I am to escort you back to the palace. I believe you and that mercenary are to be the guests of honour,” Captain Raeken huffed and walked over to the prince. Snatching up the Omega’s elbow he pulled the prince along towards the steps. Although the Royal family had a strict policy against physical touch, especially for Stiles, Captain Raeken had always found reasons to grab the prince, out of the necessity of escorting him of course. Omegas were known to be stubborn and often needed leading.

  
The Captain stopped at the steps and allowed Stiles to lead the way to the Palace.   
  
Once inside the cavernous halls Stiles tried to brush the Captain off but the Alpha stuck close,   
“Captain Raeken.”   


Both turned at the sound of the prince heir walking down the Throne Room steps. Stiles ducked his head and looked away. While the war had officially been won, his brother wore a suit of armour. The sight of the polished silver breast plate and long sword hanging at his hip made Stiles feel obsolete, as if his contribution to their victory was something to be swept aside and forgotten.   
  
“Yes, my prince,” Captain Raeken bowed as Scott came closer.  


“Are you escorting my brother somewhere?”  


“Yes.”   


Scott glanced between the two before straightening his shoulders. “As my father had stated this morning at the ceremony; ‘we are grateful for your service to the Royal House’, but considering the change in my brothers circumstances it is inappropriate to be his chaperone.”  
  
“Excuse me, your highness. I was told he was sighted on the wall again and that he needed to return to his chambers to prepare for the banquet.”  


Scott frowned down at his brother. “Indeed. I thank you for escorting him back to us. But from now you will become a part of my entourage.”  


“Of course, your highness.” Captain Raeken bowed once more, “It would be an honour.”  


Scott nodded before turning to leave, “Report to Iza in my Wing this evening. For now you may escort my brother to his chambers one last time.”  


Captain bowed again and waited till the prince heir walked away before straightening up. “Come.” He gestured to the prince to lead the way.   
  
The walk to his chambers was tense, and Stiles was unsure how to defuse it. He never felt that Captain Raeken truly cared for him, but surely he was sour that their engagement had been broken off so suddenly. It must have hurt worse knowing he was being replaced by a lowly mercenary. Stiles could feel that the Captain wished to speak, but thankfully the halls were busy and every few metres they crossed paths with a maid, or courtier. The moment for conversation never arose and Stiles was grateful for it.   
  
Once in his chambers Lydia stripped him of his clothes and gave him a quick wipe down with a cloth soaked in rosehip water in front of the fire. Because everyone was lacking new finery, Stiles was dressed back into his crushed blue velvet doublet, a fresh linen shirt, warm black hose and red velvet slippers that were too tight to be comfortable. Lydia tutted and huffed as she buttoned up the doublet, complaining under her breath at the lack of choice in his wardrobe. She dabbed a small amount of perfume on his neck and fastened up the last of his buttons.   
  
Once he was dressed Lydia picked up his golden crown from where it was placed on a plush cushion and placed it upon his head. It was made from the finest gold, three fine bands twisted together gave the appearance of a neat and dainty birds nest. Small sapphires and amethysts were woven into the design, the jewels catching the light each time he moved his head. His neck was covered by the customary blue silk scarf. Stiles sighed to himself as he looked down at his slippers. It was jarring. For two years every morning he had been wearing leather armour and wielding a bow, and very rarely did the need arise where he had to wear such finery. On the wall he had a purpose, a title he could proud of. But now, he had to become a prince once more, and not only did Stiles feel out of practice, he felt adrift.

  
He ran his fingers over his discarded medals. Lydia had chosen a rose brooch detailed with rubies and pearls to wear instead. Taking off the brooch he took no notice of Lydia’s huff and instead he pinned his well earned medals on his doublet with pride.

  
The celebratory banquet was to be held tonight. It would be the first time he had seen the General since their last heated interaction.

  
“My condolences.” Lydia gave him a sad smile and took his limp hand in her own, “The Captain was a fine Alpha.”  


“Oh.” Stiles squared his jaw, he knew their engagement would be a focus tonight, but he wished it was not. His father wished for the engagement to appear to be a love match, not blackmail. But Stiles was unsure if he could even look at the General again.   
  
“Thank you, Lady Lydia.” Stiles took a step back and walked towards his chamber door. “Shall we?”   
Lydia dipped her head and walked over. Giving her a convincing smile Stiles pulled open the door and walked out.   


Outside his chambers, in a small lobby where his guards waited stood general Derek Hale. The prince’s steps faltered.  The general still wore his common armour. It was however scrubbed clean, and was paired with a sharp white linen shirt instead of his aketon and chainmail. His face had been scrubbed clean of blood and dirt and his hair had been combed. His broad sword hung at his hip. And although the Alpha appeared clean, from where he stood Stiles picked up the once alluring scent of leather, smoke and musk.  


Gritting his teeth the prince turned to Lydia. “You may wait for me in the Great Hall.”   


His lady in waiting gave him a warning glance before she left the room. Two guards were stationed at the door and were to act as his chaperone, yet Derek motioned for them to follow the Lady in waiting.    
  
One guard fidgeted before speaking. “We were ordered to chaperone the prince to the banquet, General.”  


“His virtue is safe with me. I can be trusted”  


The guards reluctantly bowed towards the prince before making their leave. Stiles frowned to himself as he watched the guards exchange a smile and equally deep bow towards the mercenary leader before exiting his chamber. It was well known that the general inspired loyalty from the commoners and foot soldiers, but for his own personal guards to defer to the General in his presence was unnerving.    
  
Stiles hadn’t been able to decide whether he wanted a moment alone with the general to tell him of his grievances, or whether it was best that he avoid the man at all costs. But now, with the general standing in the way of his exit and looking hopeful, the decision had been made for him. As decisions often were.   
  
“Good evening, my Prince.” Derek bowed before straightening up and walking over to Stiles. As he reached for the prince's hand Stiles folded his hands together and took a step back.   


Stiles squared his shoulders but looked away from the General. He had so many thoughts racing through his mind, so much needed to be said. A tense filled moment passed between them before Stiles turned sharp eyes on the Alpha and spoke.   


“I thought you were my friend-“ Stiles sucked in a breath and turned away, the words ‘ _yet you threaten my kingdom so that you may possess me’_ almost flying off his tongue, but he held back. His father’s warning against acting rash should the Alpha choose to lay waste to his kingdom still fresh in his mind. He did not want to believe that the General would do something so heinous, but after the blackmailing on the eve of battle Stiles no longer knew what kind of Alpha the General was.   
  
“My prince, please-“  


“-You are nothing more than the barbarian everyone accuses you of being!” Stiles spat, unable to hold that new opinion at bay.  
Disregarding the Prince’s irate nature the Alpha walked close and gripped the boys shoulders. “I know you do not believe that.”  
  
Struggling out of the Alphas grip Stiles raised his fist to strike, but Derek caught his fist easily and lowered it. He frowned down at the prince. “I do not understand what has gotten you so irate.”  


“You don’t understand?!” Stiles gritted his teeth and yanked his hand from the Alphas grip.

“Surely you’re only shocked?” Derek asked with a smile.  


“Only shocked!?” Stiles shouted, clenching his fists at his side.   


“We were made for each other. It was the only way we could be together.” Derek shot him a proud smile and stepped closer. “I know you find me attractive and interesting. Your attention towards me these past eight months has been testament to how well matched we are.”  
  
Stiles stood shocked for a moment. It had never passed his mind that perhaps the Alpha thought he was being gallant in his blackmail, that Stiles had wanted his union as much as him.   


“I did not…” Stiles looked down at his slippers, his mind quickly traversing through all the interactions he had with the general. “You do not know my heart.”   


“We’re perfect for one another Stiles, I can give you the freedom you’ve only dreamt of.”  


“You haven’t freed me!” Stiles shouted back, tears rimming his eyes.   
  
There came a knock on his chamber door and they paused, shocked out of their heated conversation as Scott entered the room.   


Scott quickly crossed the room and took Stiles hand. Turning back towards the general, Scott inclined his head before speaking. “I did not realise you’d be escorting my brother general Hale. My apologies. I saw the guards leaving the hall and I grew concerned.”   
  
Derek bowed in response, but as he moved closer to Stiles, Scott squared his shoulders and looped his brothers arm through his. “But I must ask you grant me the pleasure of escorting my brother to the banquet. Talos knows I will not have the honour in a number of days.”  
  
Derek smiled and stepped back, “Of course, your highness, allow me to follow.”

  
The three exited the room, Derek following the pair close behind. While Stiles was grateful for the rescue, the argument had been left unfinished and his anger still simmered close to the surface. Nothing had been resolved, and the answers he received only confused him further. Did the Alpha honestly think he was acting in Stiles’ favour?

The celebratory banquet was being held in the Great Hall. Courtiers, nobles, generals, knights and only the highest ranking soldiers were invited to dine. Derek had been allowed to invite one mercenary as a guest of honour, and he had chosen Jordan Parrish. At the head table that sat along the back wall, light by grand candelabra, sat the king along with his two sons on either side. Derek had been given the honour of sitting next to his betrothed while Jordan sat further down the table.   
The banquet had been an experience all on its own. Derek had only ever heard of how Royals dined. And he was surprised at how quickly the royal kitchens had gathered supplies outside of Beacons Light.

  
On gold platters came forth all manner of delicacies; sucking pig glazed with mead and honey, peacock pie; the full skin of the peacock with feathers intact sat erect over the pie, it’s plumage spread wide and beautiful. Venison Haslett; which were rolled venison pressed with spices served with sorrel sauce. Cockentrice, which Derek had heard of but never seen. The dish was made up of the backend of a suckling pig and stitched and roasted with the front body of a turkey. Inside it was stuffed with bread, liver, eggs, pine nuts and currents. It gave the appearance of a small mythological beast that had been roasted up.   
  
Smaller yet still impressive dishes followed. Meatballs which were dyed and pressed to look like golden apples, barely roasted fish swam in their own sweet juices to imitate life, their eyes glazed but their mouths open and their fins flared.   


And all of this was to be eaten with dainty golden cutlery from pewter plates. In the far corner sat a group of musicians, Derek strained to ear the sounds of the harp, flutes and lute but the soft sounds could not compete with the gentle chatter of the banquet guests.

  
Watching those around him, Derek noted how Stiles sat back and only vaguely pointed to the dish he approved of before a servant gracefully filled his plate with the desired portions. Once the servant retreated into the background the prince began to eat.   
  
Disliking the arrangement between the servants and the guests Derek reached across the table for the roasted lamb with roasted chestnuts and loaded his own plate up with the familiar food. He knew he did not have to stand on ceremony here, no one expected him to act proper and he was not about to make himself uncomfortable for people whose opinions did not matter. As it were he cared little for the company, besides a few of the Knights and Soldiers, he only cared for the Prince’s and king's opinion. As the wine servants entered the food and began to fill goblets the king rose and gave a long winded speech about the war.

  
It was more poetic than factual, and Derek found himself getting bored half way through and instead focused his attention on the sweet prince sitting besides him. Leaning across to fill the gap between them he rested a solid hand on the boys thigh and whispered, “I am sorry if I upset you.”  


The prince tensed underneath his touch and gave a terse nod in return.   
  
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a fancy spread as this.” Derek continued, keeping his voice light.   
Stiles lifted his leg to move, but Derek mistook the movement and instead dragged his hand back and forth against the tense muscle and soft padding.   


“Please,” Stiles hissed, dropping a hand from the table he pushed at the Alphas rough hand.   


The king’s voice began to rise as he turned and looked down at his son, “And of course we could not anticipate the attachment my son would form for our cities hero. Such is my respect for General Derek Hale, that I have honoured his wish to marry my precious son. Truly a worthy gift for Beacon Light’s saviour.” He gestured for Derek to stand and the General followed suit.   
  
The king stretched out his hand and placed it on Derek’s shoulder, Stiles sitting low between them.   
“He may be an outsider, and of low class, but I am honoured by his service, and as a father I could not bear to see my only Omega son mourn the loss of his beau.” The king rose his cup to the air and smiled, “Tonight we honour the dead, those brave souls who kept us safe. And Derek Hale and my Son, whose love may shine bright as Beacon’s Light.”  


The crowd cheered and drank deeply from their goblets. While many guests were dubious of the king's proposal of the love match, it mattered not. The war was won and they were saved.   
  
For Derek the banquet continued in a boring fashion. Once the king had finished his long winded speech other nobles and generals stood and gave praise to the king for his steadfast leadership, Derek and his mercenaries were not mentioned again. As the speeches continued, some eliciting a laugh from the crowd, servants brought more food to the tables. While many still dinned on the assortment of roasted and boiled meats, many sweet delicacies were brought forth. Derek noted how his betrothed pointed for a sweet pudding as soon as it was placed on his plate. Smirking at his fiancé’s sweet tooth Derek took a swig of warm mead. Various flagons filled with wine, mead, and ale was placed on the tables and were quickly consumed by the guests. It interested Derek that while many drank deeply from their cups, no raucous behaviour broke free. These nobles were so stiff that even with a belly full of wine and meat; they still held their noses high and kept their voice pitched with an air of superiority.   
  
Several courses were brought forth from the kitchen, each more decadent and usual than the last.

  
Derek tried to engage Stiles in conversation several times, but the Omega was in no mood to talk. He finished his mead and covered his goblet with his hand when the wine servant came to refill it. In a crowd like this the opportunity to let loose and celebrate was not about to arise. He hoped Jordan was having a better time further down the table.

  
As the night continued, several couples entered the space before the Royal table and began to dance to the courtly music, and Derek’s interest piqued. Although he wasn’t trained to dance in such a restrained and graceful manner he had confidence that it couldn’t be too hard to emulate. The couples dancing wore their finest clothes; thickly weaved doublets, bliauts, and mantles, and while Derek knew he would look out of place dancing in his armour, he was already standing out like a broken thumb on a delicate hand.   


“My prince-“ Derek leant over once more to his fiancé, “Would you care to dance? I promise you that I won’t step on your toes.”  


Stiles stared down at his third sweet pudding. Cutting it into bite sized pieces he made the general wait for his response.   


“I’m afraid we cannot. It is inappropriate.”  


Derek’s eyes widened, he looked back at the dancing couples. Only their palms touched where they swayed around one another. A young boy and girl had joined the musicians and began to sing.  “Inappropriate?”

“Yes.” Stiles looked back at him with sharp eyes, “Only mated couples may dance.”  


Trying to hide his distaste for such a thing Derek smirked back and joked, “Does that mean the great prince of the Wall cannot dance? For shame.”  


“I can dance!” Stiles hissed.  


“Oh? How inappropriate My prince, and whom did you dance with? Surely you’ve not been bonded before?” Derek laughed.   


Instead of replying Stiles turned to his father, “Excuse me Father, I am tired and wish to retire.”  


The king shot Derek a distasteful look before nodding to his son, “Of course, my son. Good night.”

  
Derek reached out to grab Stiles’ hand as he moved past him, but the prince was quick to move his hand out of the way and give a polite wave to the bowing dancers as he left.   


After the prince’s abrupt departure the banquet became incredibly boring. Derek doubted he’d last the night.

   
  


*

As Stiles left the Great Hall and entered the hallway he came across Captain Raeken who had been on guard.  “My prince.” The captain bowed and began to follow the prince. “You are retiring early.”  


“Yes I am.” Stiles snapped back.  
  
“And here I thought you’d be revelling in your conquest tonight.” Captain Raeken walked closely to the prince as they made their way towards his chambers.   


“My conquest!?” Stiles turned on the Captain.  
  
“I have heard the rumours, how the mercenary blackmailed your father for your hand.” Stiles looked away from the Alpha, but the Captain forced his eyes on him as he pushed the prince behind a statue. The large marble figure of Talos hid them from sight should anyone come from the Great Hall.    
  
“But I know you must have encouraged him to make such a bold move.”  


“Captain Raeken, unhand me this instant.” Stiles growled, fed up with being pushed about.   
  
The Captain only responded by gripping his wrists and pressing him against the stone wall. “I tried to win your affections-“ he spat, “-but I knew! These past eight months I saw how you behaved like a common harlot every time that heathen was in sight.”  
  
Stiles pulled his wrist free and punched the Captain across the face. Years upon the wall had build up considerable arm strength and Stiles was pleased to see how the Alpha stumbled back, his cheek already smarting with a deep red mark.  
  
Captain Raeken’s eyes fixed back on him in an instant, and Stiles saw how raw and angered the Alpha really was. All caution had left the man, and not for the first time Stiles felt afraid of the Captain. But before Captain Raeken could take more than two steps towards him, a large hand was wrapping itself around the Captain’s billowing cape and tugging backwards. The Captain stumbled and nearly fell on his arse.   
  
“My prince,” In the Captains place stood Derek Hale of the Wolf Clan. He held out a hand but Stiles only glared back at the Alpha and stepped out from behind the statue. Glancing over his shoulder at the smarting Captain, Derek grinned, “I would ask if you were harmed, but unlike some I’m aware just how capable you are.”  
  
Stiles looked over to see the Captain retreating. Smoothing away the creases on his doublet he held his chin high but did not look the General in the eye.   


“In that case I am in no need for an escort.”   
  
The General was silent for a moment, his hand fiddling with his scabbard. “If I may-“  


“Excuse me.” Stiles turned on his heel and left. But the General was quick to join him.  “I said I did not need an escort.”  
  
Derek followed anyway. His brows creased in confusion at the prince's behaviour. “I angered you at dinner.”

  
“No” Stiles snapped.  


Derek faltered, but he kept time with the prince's brisk pace. “Well then…”  


Stiles rounded on the General and pushed him back with a firm hand. “You angered me with your proposal!”   
  
Derek stood stunned for a moment, “I…”  


“Until the bonding ceremony I demand that you leave me alone.” And with that the prince left the General standing dumbly in the hall as he fled to his chambers.   


Huffing out an irritated sigh Derek turned back and made the long walk back to the where the mercenaries were stationed within the city; the local Inn. Surely they were having a better night than him.   


 

*

 

After the passing of two days.

A mass funeral and day of mourning had overtaken the city. At this point in his crusades Derek and his Clan had often left the people and cities they were paid to defend and never saw how they buried their dead. At dawn on the second day the great city of Beacons Light was alight with reed lights as commoners and nobles alike walked from their homes through the courtyards and market places, either with coffins of those recently passed, or with blood red poppies for those killed earlier in the war. The Royal Family marched at the head of the procession, all donned in black and each holding a light they lead the entire populace from the city to the blood stained fields below. While in Triskelion they accompanied any festival or funeral with their traditional bagpipes, in Beacons Light it was silent save for the gentle snap of the cities flags and muffled crying.   
  
The cities ancient funeral grounds were deep within the mountain, but only accessible through a deep depression with a stone stairwell at the bottom of a field some miles away. While Derek’s Clan had many dead to bury, their brave soldiers were first embalmed then wrapped in wax cloth and loaded in a cart in preparation for their return home journey. For now Derek and his men were once again the cities only protection as they left the safety of the city walls.   
  
Derek rode close to the head of the procession. The young prince looked small and deathly pale dressed all in black. While the king and prince heir wore black heavy robes, Stiles was dressed in more feminine clothing. He wore a black lace shawl, his blue silk neck scarf had been replaced by a long black lace one, and he wore a long black tunic lined in black lace. Derek could only surmise that it was traditional wear for an Omega in mourning.   
  
The procession made their way through the stained battle field. Derek and his soldiers held back as they neared the funeral pit. It was a large crater, deep and wide enough to fit several houses, yet from a distance even on horseback the pit was not visible. Only the wide expanding fields and rolling hills.

  
They created a protective circle around the crater as the Royal family descended the stone steps that lead down into a lush green pit. To the side, and now charred by the enemy trying to force entry stood a large stone door. Derek could not see how, but the king opened the large door and the Royal family followed by nobles disappeared inside.   


Derek and his Clan were not allowed to accompany them inside, even for protection. But much earlier the king had allowed Derek and a small group of his best soldiers inside the funeral tombs to scout for danger.   


Confident in the Prince’s safety Derek sat back comfortably on his steed and watched as the cities people slowly descended into the ground below.   


By noon they entire cities population had descended underground. Derek kept a sharp eye on the wall and the banner that his trusted soldiers held up on the outer city wall. A sign of safety; all was well in the city, nobody had attacked while the city sat incredibly vulnerable.   


While Derek knew each city and culture practiced funerals and mourning differently, it still unnerved him that the king would leave his city so abandoned. Surely a mass cremation just outside the city would have been preferable. So long as none of his soldiers died while the people were burying their dead underground then he could not complain.

The Royal family emerged from the underground funeral grounds first. Each slowly ascending the winding stone steps to the field above.   


Some families would choose to spend the entire day underground burying and mourning their dead, but the Royal family had a city to run and protect, and luckily they had no kin to burry.   
  
As they reached the field above, Stiles rubbed his eyes once more from the tears gathering and looked about him. He squinted and blinked against the brightness of the sun above. Surrounding them, but keeping a respectful distance sat the mercenaries on their mounts. Although seeing the General watching him intently made him uncomfortable, he was grateful that the mercenaries took up the position of funeral guard, allowing the cities soldiers a chance to mourn with the commoners.   
Standing patiently near the mouth of the funeral pit was a group of young children, orphans before the war who had no one to bury. Each child held a basket filled with scorpion grass, otherwise known as forget-me-not flowers. It was custom that after a burial those living would take a flower and gift it to a living loved one. The tradition was to remind those grieving of those who they had left, and to cherish the loved ones still living.   
Stiles followed his father and brother as they walked towards the children, each taking a flower and gifting it to one another. Only three baskets held real flowers, while the others held paper and card forget-me-nots.   


As the Royal family took position near the mounted mercenaries, many common and noble folk ascended the stone steps onto the field.   


Many families gifted one another flowers and then gathered in a small cluster.   


As the procession continued and the field filled with small gatherings of people, the king lent close to Stiles and spoke.   
  
“Take a scorpion grass to the General Hale.”  


“I will not.” Stiles replied, his expression slipping into a frown.   


“You will do as I say and you will do it with dignity.”  


Stiles didn’t reply and didn’t move; instead he held his chin high in a silent refusal. His father gripped his arm in a tight hold and whispered, “Your bonding is in two days, the people are sceptical of my decision. Do not make a fool of me. Do your duty.”  
  
Swallowing against the mounting tension in his body, Stiles pulled himself away from his father and took the last real forget-me-not from a small red headed girl holding the basket.   


He could feel eyes on him, and heard hushed whispers as he walked past families towards the Wolf Clan leader.   
  
General Hale sat atop a black Belgian steed in his usual leather armour. The war horse stomped his foot impatiently as Stiles neared and Derek gracefully descended from the tall horse.   


Keeping his eyes lowered Stiles stepped towards the General and held out the flower.   
He felt a strong hand envelope his, and withheld the flinch of unease.   
  
“I have seen your people giving these to each other.” Derek smiled and took the flower, his hand still grasping the Princes’. “May I ask the reason behind this sweet tradition?”  


Knowing they were being watched by not only his father but most of the commoners and nobles in sight, Stiles took a breath and stepped closer. Looking up through his lashes, he clenched his jaw briefly and tried to keep the anger towards the Alpha seeping through.   
  
“We give forget-me-nots to those we care for after burials, so that we remember to be grateful for those still living.”   


Derek took the hand he was still holding and placed a firm kiss upon it. “Well then my dear Prince, I ought to find you a field of forget-me-nots and gift them to you.”  


Should the comment have come from anyone else Stiles would have laughed and thanked them for such a loving sentiment, but coming from the manipulative General who took another opportunity in his silence to kiss his hand, the sentiment was unpleasant at best. “It would not be necessary, our traditions are not yours.” Stiles pulled his hand back and forced a smile.

   
Unaware of the simmering anger underneath the sweet façade Derek smiled back and stepped closer to the Prince. “I am pleased you are speaking to me once more.”  


Unable to respond with anything polite Stiles simply tugged his hand free and gave a curt bow before turning on his heel and retreating to his brother and father.   


Holding the flower to his chest Derek sighed. While sheltered Omegas held all the sunshine and purity of a springs morning, they were still fickle and odd.  


  
*

That Evening Stiles had been ushered into his father’s study. He was still feeling emotionally drained and tired from the heavy day. Inside the study sat a noble Omega of high birth. Although several years older Stiles was familiar enough with him to remember his name and his position in society. Yet none of it warranted why the man was joining them.   
  
“Mieczyslaw-“ The king began, rising from his seat near the fire, his guest following suit, “-allow me to introduce Lord Hadenbergs husband, Benjamin.”

Benjamin has all the qualities an Omega could desire; a slim figure with rounded hips, petite stature, big blue demure eyes, and smooth caramel coloured skin. His hair was dark brunette with strands of honey gold. He wore a modest wine red doublet with matching hosen, and a tan linen undershirt.   
“It is an honour to meet you, your highness.” Benjamin bowed deeply.

  
Stile returned the bow and met his father’s eye.   
  
“I have asked Master Benjamin to give you instruction before your wedding tomorrow.”

“Instruction?”

The king rubbed his hands together and looked to the door, “Yes, Madam Kent who would have given you lessons in Omega training is no longer with us, and we lost many others during the war who would have replaced her, but fear not-“ The king gestured to Benjamin with a tight smile, “Master Benjamin is of high rank and has birthed two healthy children, I have faith in his ability to give you ample instruction.”  
  
And with that the king left the room and left to two Omegas standing across one another.

After a moment’s hesitation Benjamin cleared his throat, “Would you like to sit, your highness?” He gestured to the winged back chairs by the fire.

   
The pretty Omega poured them both a steaming cup of rooibos tea as the Prince sat.  


“I believe I saw you in the Northern medic wing?” Stiles began.  


“Oh yes.” Benjamin smiled and passed a cup and saucer over to the Prince, “I was a nurse for some time.”  


“Do you miss it?”  


“Oh no, oh no.” Benjamin hastily brought his tea to his lips and took several sips.  


“Oh.” Stiles took a sip of tea and considered the crackling fire, aware that the Omega wanted to speak of their service no longer.    
  
They drank their tea in silence for some time, until Benjamin placed his cup down, smoothed his hands over his thighs and smiled at Stiles.   


“Now, your highness. Bonded life is such a happy one, but from my own experiences I understand the anxieties that come about. Alphas can be such brutes, and often tactless. But truly there is nothing to fear on your wedding night.” Benjamin cleared his throat and looked ahead into the fire. “It is true there may be some pain. My Stepthen was very gentle with me, as high born Alphas are taught to be, now in your…circumstances-“ Benjamin cleared his throat once more and cupped his hands, staring down at them for a moment as if for inspiration for his next words, “-you can’t very well expect such a…such a…rough looking sort of Alpha to be patient.”  
  
Stiles frowned into his tea cup.  


“Now, my dear prince-“ Benjamin scooted forward and gently placed his hand upon Stiles’ knee, “-My Alpha nor I believe that such a sweet delicate Omega such as you could love such a brute, a saviour of the city he may be, and I know talk amongst the nobles suggests something underhand has conspired but-“  
  
“I will hear no talk of rumours Master Benjamin. You are to instruct me on how to…perform on my wedding night, not gossip about my betrothed.”  


Benjamin ducked his head and took his hand back, “Of course, your highness, I am deeply sorry. I only meant that loving and wanting an Alpha makes the mating far easier and enjoyable. I am unsure how to instruct you knowing you will be forced to take to bed with such a brute.”  
  
Stiles placed his tea cup on upon the table with a clatter. “You will refrain from calling my betrothed a brute this instant! He is the saviour of our city and your life, he deserves your respect!”  


“Of course of course-“, Benjamin simpered, “-forgive me.”  


Stiles sat back in his chair and took his tea with him, drinking more of the warm tea and watching the older Omega.   


“Well-“ Benjamin began after a tense silence, “-where shall I begin?” He continued, mostly to himself, “-When an Alpha is aroused, as yours will be on your wedding night, it will be best for you to lay on your belly-“  


Stiles stood up from his chair and placed his tea cup and saucer on the table, “You may leave.”  


Benjamin looked up aghast, “But, your highness, I am to instruct you on…on matters.”  
  
“On sex? I’m quite educated.”  


Benjamin gasped in shock and Stiles quickly clarified, “I was a Captain upon the wall, my squadron contained many mated Omegas who spoke freely of their experiences.”  


“My word!”   


“So unless you are going to impart specific cultural mating expectations, then I’m afraid your help is no longer required.”  
  
Benjamin stood and brushed down his doublet, “Surely, your highness, and educated instruction imparted from a high born Omega such as myself is above the common chatter amongst harlot Omegas. Gossiping about…sex is one matter, but there are other crucial aspects that only occur between an Alpha and Omega mating”  
  
Holding back his annoyance at hearing his brave soldiers being given such a low opinion, Stiles bowed and stepped away from the chair. “I thank you for what you have shared with me this night.”  
“Your highness, please forgive me.” Benjamin bowed twice before anxiously looking at the door and back at his Prince. “I must inform you of the After Glow, the ritual between and Alpha and Omega during the morning af-“  


“I am sure I have heard it, and our rituals will not be present in Triskelion.”  


“Your highness it is not a ritual-“  


“Thank you Master Benjamin for your instruction. I will tell my father you have been most informative. Now if you please.” Stiles bowed once more and gently extended his lax fingers towards the door.

“…Of course, your highness, it was an honour.” Benjamin bowed low, and shuffled backwards several steps before turning and exiting the room.   


Once the room was empty Stiles gave a deep sigh and threw his unfinished tea onto the fire.

Flopping back into the winged back chair, the Prince brought a hand to his face and thought back on the conversation. Though reminding the noble Omega of the respect General Hale was due, Stiles felt some of his anger cool off. Throughout the day he had thought back to the early morning funeral, and just how many candles burned and how many poppies were placed on empty coffins to represent the soldiers that died in the first years of the war. If it were not for the mercenary Alpha they could have very well been wiped out and their bodies burnt in a heap by their enemies. It was still true that the Alpha had acted in an ungallant manner, and Stiles was frustrated with himself that he had seen the Alpha as anything higher than low class. If he had kept the Alpha in low regard perhaps he wouldn’t have been surprised. Yet either way, he had to respect the saviour of his city, and furthermore he had to do his duty by bonding with him. It was the least he could do for his city.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> { Forks arrived in England 1611 from Italy, but whatever}  
> Thank you once again DarkAthena :3
> 
> Ideas, praise, confusion, and questions are all welcome in the comments :)


	5. The Marriage Contract

All too soon the city was whipped up with enthusiastic energy at the news of the coming wedding and became dedicated to arranging the bonding ceremony. The public courtyard that usually held a bustling market but was now scattered with large scorched boulders from the siege would be cleared to the best of the engineers’ abilities so that the entire city could witness the event. It was to be an event that would bring the light and joy back to everyone’s life; a joyous royal wedding after a three-year siege and mass funeral. If only some of that joy could manifest in the prince.

Although it was his wedding Stiles was not involved in the event, as all Royal weddings were conducted the same- without personal touches. So far he had spent most of the day being fitted for a bright blue and silver wedding suit. Although not a tailor or seamstress Lydia helped prepare and fit the prince alongside the three employed tailors. His wedding attire was a silver embroidered long doublet with shining silver buttons trailing down the full length of the jacket to his hips. His neck scarf was bright blue silk with pearls sewn in. Long lace cuffs trailed over his knuckles while a short lace collar could be spied underneath his scarf. Bright blue and restricting velvet hose were paired with delicate silver silk slippers adorned with freshwater pearls.

Once his attire was deemed complete he was ushered into the steaming bath for a thorough and heavily perfumed wash.

 

*  
**Evening. The Kings study.**

“He may have a wagon sent once the pass clears, but I will not slow down my cavalcade, nor will I spare my soldiers as escorts for this unnecessary opulence.”

Derek sat at a writing desk in the king's study; candlelight and a nearby roaring fire lit their business. As per the king’s request, he did not wear his armour, but instead wore his only casual attire; a cotton shirt, tan riding trousers, and a faded red tunic. His broadsword hung at his side, tied with a thick leather belt.

The king sat across from him in a luxurious red velvet high back chair, a goblet of wine at his elbow as he looked down at the marriage contract. There were only a few details they needed to agree upon before the wedding took place.

The king took a sip of wine and sat back, gesturing with his hand as he spoke, “You understand my son is accustomed to a life of luxury, he will not be pleased to know he is not able to take his bed, nor his bath.”

“I am aware your majesty, but I believe that these last few years upon the wall have changed your son for the better. He has lived as the soldiers have lived. I don’t believe that these luxuries will be such a cause for unhappiness. My possessions in Triskelion will be more than adequate.”

 

“I must take your word for it, Alpha Hale, but I know my son, he will not be pleased.”

“He must only wait until winter clears and then if he is still so inclined he may request several wagons of possessions to be sent through.”

“Yes, very well.”

Derek smiled at the king, pleased at how well negotiations on the contract were progressing.

“Now-“ King Noah leant forward, a frown creasing his lined face, “there is one other condition that you have not signed to; your heirs upon birth will relinquish any claim on the Beacon Light throne.”

 

Derek leant back in his chair and studied the king for a moment, he knew he had the upper hand on these negotiations, and that the king would not be familiar with giving concessions. And while he would never make unfair demands, he also wanted the king aware that they both now stood on equal footing.  


“I have no designs upon my heirs fighting their cousins for the throne, but I will not deny them a better life. I will agree to your terms on the basis that if prince Heir Scott does not produce alpha children who live to claim the throne then my heirs will be the legitimate successor.”

 

The king rubbed his head for a moment and thought, “You know I cannot allow that, Alpha Hale, it would put Scott’s heirs in mortal danger. Hypothetically all your heirs would need to achieve to claim the throne would be to kill their cousins. No, no, I cannot agree. I have my own private plans in place should such a tragedy occur.”

 

“And the council?”  


“The council are, and have always been informed of what to do should such an atrocity to happen. I cannot allow this concession.”

 

Derek cocked his head to the side and studied the scroll for a moment, “Very well. I will agree for my heirs to relinquish all rights to the Beacon Lights throne on the sole condition that once my heirs are born they are recognised as legitimate royalty through the eyes of the Beacon Lights council and its allies.”  


The king was aghast for a moment, the mercenary’s plans finally settled into an awful design. “You wish to create your own dynasty using my son’s Royal blood. You hope to legitimize your entire endeavour.”

 

“I do not _hope_ to, I will.” Derek swallowed the last of his wine and placed the goblet down with on the desk with a thunk. Knowing the king was in no position to argue the General didn’t give him an opportunity. “Have your council sign and pledge loyalty to my terms, have it written in stone for the public to see, and have the Prince Heir pledge himself to this contract and all it entails; then I will sign away my heirs right to your throne.”

At every turn, the mercenary had aided yet beaten him. He was truly a cunning and intelligent alpha and the king knew when he was outmatched. At every instance, the general had been three steps ahead of him. He could never have foreseen this, and unable to see a way out of this concession he nodded his agreement. “I will have my scribe write up the necessary alterations, as well as a separate binding agreement regarding Triskelion eventual independence and dynasty.” 

Derek bowed his head, “Thank you, your majesty.”

 

“Now-“ The king began with a sigh, “-as per my alpha son's request we must discuss an unpleasant topic. My son is still young, and instead of spending his youth studying important subjects and learning valuable Omega skills he has had to fight in a war. You can imagine that he has…gaps in his education.” The king paused for a moment, looking uneasy with the topic.

 

“Your majesty?” Derek inquired. He knew that Stiles hadn’t attended the incredibly daft ‘Omega finishing school’, but he did not know how the prince's lack of knowledge of knowing how to sew or proper Omega etiquette was of consequence.  


“As his education had to be postponed, so did other matters that relate purely to his gender.” The king paused once more and took a sip of wine. Derek was unused to being engaged in such a stilted conversation, he preferred upfront facts, none of this careful time wasting as they stepped around the issue. Thankfully the king gave a big deep breath and got to the point, “My son has not yet experienced his first heat. He was placed on suppressants two years ago. We could not afford to lose him from the wall.”

 

“Of course-“Derek's brows knitted, “I understand.”  


“Once he is placed into your care he will begin a natural course, and my alpha son has made one request on behalf of his innocent brother; that you wait to consummate the bonding until he is in heat.”

 

Derek shifted in his seat. It would be an experience for both; Derek had never been with an Omega in heat before. He made sure his curiosity and excitement was not evident as he replied.

“Of course, your majesty. I would want the prince to be as comfortable as possible. Please tell the Prince Heir that his wish will be carried out will all the care a loving alpha has for his Omega.”

“Thank you. Alpha Hale.”

 

The king scratched a note off a parchment alongside the contract and began to speak of the next piece to argue over when there came a knock on the study door. A servant walked in and announced his Omega son's request for an audience.

The king rose from his seat and Derek quickly spoke, “If I may, your majesty, there is a small matter at hand that I’d like to discuss with you and the prince.”

“Of course, escort my son in.” The king waved the servant in and sat back down.

 

Stiles hesitantly walked in. He paused when he saw his betrothed standing at his father's writing desk. The alpha was no longer wearing his leather armour, but he still looked like a commoner in his cotton shirt and faded red tunic. He still wore his sword, but now it was fastened to his side by a thick leather belt that wrapped around his waist. Stiles found himself tracing his eyes over the alpha’s bulky form; the belt accentuating his man's solid waist, and wide shoulders.

The alpha was now giving him a pleased yet coy smile.

Stiles walked over to his father’s desk and hesitated for a moment as Derek simply smiled and stared at him. After a short moment of strange silence, the general cleared his throat. “My prince, would you care to sit?” Derek stepped aside and offered his chair to the prince.

 

“Oh, no thank you gen- Alpha Hale. I will be but a moment.”

 

“My son, it’s a pleasure to see you. Now before you speak Alpha Hale wished to discuss a matter with us.”  


“Oh?” Stiles glanced over at the alpha before looking back at his father.

The alpha shuffled at his side, and Stiles reminded himself that no matter what the alpha demanded of him he would act in a dignified and princely manner. He would remember his duty.

“Yes, you may have a friend or…servant to accompany you to Triskelion. I know it will be difficult leaving your home, and this may soften your homesickness.”

 

Unable to hide his shock Stiles looked up at the alpha, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open, “Just one?”

“Pardon?”  


“Excuse my son, Alpha Hale.” The king interjected, “but when a Royal is to marry into another family they take an entourage.”

“Surely their friends have their own lives to live.”

“Servants, Alpha Hale.” The king clarified.

Derek frowned in confusion, not understanding why someone would need that many servants.

“That won’t be necessary; Triskelion is well equipped in man power. You will only need one, and it need not be a servant.”

 

The Royals were silent for a moment before the king sighed and spoke, “I am sure Lady Lydia would be a fine escort, and she’d keep you company.”

Blinking back tears Stiles looked away and spoke, trying to keep the anger from seeping into his voice, “I have given Lydia leave to visit her beau in Hallenfall. I have gifted her an allowance and my blessing.”

 

“Oh.” Derek begun and smiled as he continued, “then I would like to present a fitting candidate.”

“A candidate for my son's escort? And who of his friends could you know?” The king asked, feeling a headache grow.

 

“Knight Daniel Māhealani.”

“He is neither a servant nor a friend.” Stiles snapped.  


“He is a talented soldier in the Light brigade; he has also spent time in Triskelion before settling here five years ago. I believe a companion from both kingdoms would be best to help you become comfortable and learn our customs, as he may teach me yours.”  


“A well thought out proposal, Alpha Hale.” The king murmured, watching his sons pinched expression. “I would like my son to be accompanied by another who can help bridge the cultural gap.”

 

“But a Knight, father?” Stiles asked, a whine sneaking into his tone.

“He is a brave soldier.” Derek grinned, “I have known him these past two years and I believe he would protect and guide you admirably.”

“I know the Māhealani family-“ The king spoke, “The Knight you speak of is a bright young Beta and I trust your judgement on this matter, Alpha Hale. My son, what is your opinion?”

 

“I do not know him well. I would prefer a familiar maid.”

 

“I understand-“ Derek stepped closer to the prince, “but Daniel is unbonded and has expressed a desire to return to Triskelion, you may choose to bring a maid, but I cannot guarantee they would enjoy the journey nor find comfort in their new home. It would be a rough adjustment.”

 

Glancing up at the alpha then back at his father Stiles felt trapped. How could he ask a maid to accompany him on his sordid journey and even worse life? Especially since his betrothed was making him feel guilt for a decision he hadn’t already made. If only the alpha knew how unwilling Stiles was to leave the city with him. If only the alpha knew how Stiles would never call Triskelion home. He felt his fathers gaze on him and saw the man giving him a warning look.

Both alphas had agreed, and now he was in a tight spot. Knowing that he had never actually had any negotiating power or that his wishes would ever actually be honestly considered Stiles did as his father expected; he nodded his consent. This decision, as with all others, was not his make.

 

“If you trust Knight Māhealani and believe he would help my transition not only from my culture to yours, but also from son to husband, then I accept.”

“Excellent.” Derek beamed. 

 

 

*  
**Later that Evening. Derek’s quarters.**

“Did the final negotiations go well Jordan asked as he shut the door behind him. After the announcements of Alpha Derek and Prince Omega Stiles’ engagement, Derek had been temporarily placed in a room within the palace. Although it was mostly a formality as the general still slept in one of the mercenaries makeshift barracks at the local inn, it was a place that the tailor used to dress and prepare him. Currently, Derek was standing by an open hearth. A cauldron of water hung in the flames and a large pan with a slither of soap and a rag sat at his feet.

 

“Better than I thought,” Derek replied, smiling over his shoulder at his lieutenant.

“How so?”  


“While hesitant, the king will sign on the legitimizing Triskelion future sovereignty,” Derek stated as he tugged his tunic off and folded it on a nearby chair.

 

“Hmm, I thought you would have to argue on that for days.” Jordan took a seat to the side and picked at the generals leftover meal of cold meat and cheese.  


“As did I. But the king and prince were more agreeable.”  


“The prince?” Jordan enquired, chewing a tender piece of mutton.  


“He came at the last moment, I proposed Knight Māhealani as his personal escort.” Derek stripped off boots and britches and finally pulled off his cotton undershirt. Standing nude in front of the fire he took the soap and rag and stepped into the large pan.

 

“And he agreed?” Jordan took no notice of his Generals nakedness. They were all used to close living conditions where privacy was a foreign concept.  


“After a moment he did.” Derek smiled at Jordan and dunked his washcloth into the cauldron.  


“Well. I must admit, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of such a negotiation going as smoothly nor as quickly.”  


“Well, I suppose they saw they were reasonable requests and were amiable enough towards them.” Derek brought the steaming rag to his chest and rubbed it through his thick chest hair and trailing curls to his cock. He grasped the bar of soap and followed the wet path with his other hand. The soap had been a pleasant surprise; the mercenaries did not usually stock luxury items, preferring to use wild herbs and coarse sands to wash with. But it was his wedding tomorrow and knew he needed to smell nice and be clean for his husband. Cleanliness was important in a camp full of mercenaries, but being perfumed and spending more than a few minutes washing with hot water was novel and enjoyable. While on campaign they often did not have the luxury of having hot water to wash with, but at his castle, the prince would be comfortable. He would make sure of it.

 

“If only it were always that easy,” Jordan chuckled, biting into a piece of goat cheese.

 

“True, but I am glad it was. It means we all left the negotiation on equal footing.” Derek scrubbed the cloth back over his stomach and over his wide shoulders. Raising his arms he scrubbed his armpits, rubbing soap into the thick thatch of hair before washing away the sweat and dirt with the steaming water.

 

“Well, it bodes well for your wedding tomorrow.”

 

“That it does!” Derek smiled over at his lieutenant. Curling his fingers he scratched through his chest hair and rubbed clean his pectorals and collarbones.

 

“In Triskelion you would spend a day arguing over one point, only to then fight it out in the arena the next.”

 

“I am glad it didn’t come to that.” Derek rubbed a soapy hand across his back as best he could, his arm muscles bulging with the effort and position. He smiled to himself at the thought that within a few weeks Stiles would be standing behind him, helping to wash his back after a long day.

 

“In a way, General, you fought first then negotiated.”  


“If the king were displeased enough, he would have fought me on every matter today. He would not have allowed it to rest. And the prince too would have pushed at every opportunity. If the king had not found a reason to be pleased about our bonding then he would have fought for his son.” Derek scrubbed the soap across the cloth before lifting his limp cock and scratching the cloth through his black curls and around his heavy testicles. Paying close attention, Derek rubbed a soapy hand around his cock, pulling back the wrinkled foreskin and washing the head and slit carefully. Sliding his hand downward he gently massaged the sensitive skin at the base of his dick.  His mind quickly jumped to thoughts of Stiles washing the most intimate parts of him; those clever fingers wrapping around his cock with such delicacy, gently rubbing over the soft skin where his knot would expand.

Feeling the skin under his touch begin to grow hot Derek focused his mind back to the basic task of cleaning and finished up by dragging thick soap covered fingers across his hairy sack.

Once his cock and balls were bubbly with soap he reached behind himself and slipped soapy fingers down his crack. Rubbing his fingers against the soft wet hair he cleaned his hole before dipping his hands and the washcloth back into the cauldron.

 

“Not all of us are fighters, General.” Jordan said, lounging back in the chair and considering the fire.  


“All of us fight for what we love,” Derek replied, taking a ladle and filling it with water repeatedly as he rinsed himself off.

All the soapy hot water collected into the pan at his feet and Derek used that water to finish off washing his toes.

Once the General was completely washed and rinsed, he stepped from the pan and dried himself off with a linen cloth. The fire would do the rest.

 

“I had to sign off one something…interesting.” Derek hesitated, reaching for his cotton shirt and black britches.  


“Oh?” Jordan replied, crossing his legs over and titling his head to the side.

“There is a clause in our marriage.”  


“Let me guess; heirs and Beacon Lights throne.”  


“Yes, but I anticipated that. This was one was something I wasn’t prepared for.” Derek said, pulling his cotton shirt over his head.  


“You unprepared? What was so surprising?”  


“Per the Prince Heir’s request the prince and I are not to consummate our marriage until his Heat.”  


Jordan nodded his head in thought. “It is understandable I suppose.”  


“I tell you this, in confidence; but I am slightly apprehensive. I had hoped…that our first mating would be less…” Derek hesitated, and instead focused on pulling on his black pants and lacing them up at the top.

 

“Intense?”  


Derek gave a breath of relief, “Yes.”

“You need not be embarrassed Derek, I am only one of a few who knows you haven’t experienced an Omega in heat. But fear not, you will do marvellously.”  


“You think?” Derek’s brows were furrowed, his hands fiddling with the ties on his shirt.

 

Jordan raised his eyebrow, “An alpha only needs but a few traits to be an excellent lover; stamina, passion, devotion, selflessness, and love.”

“And a large knot, as the twins inform me.” Derek dropped his hands to his side and smirked, feeling at least accomplished in that regard.  


Jordan shook his head and laughed, “Sure. But Derek you needn’t worry, the prince will be in good hands. If I were you I would stop fretting over the bonding bed, but instead, worry about the ceremony in two days time.”

 

 

 

 

*

**The Next day.**

 

“My prince.”

Stiles startled and quickly turned in the dark hall towards the voice. From the shadows hidden behind the library's large oak door stood the general.

“What business do you have sneaking into my palace?” Stiles snapped, his blood pumping with adrenaline and the fear of having been stalked.

 

“Apologies. I have been meaning to catch you alone for a moment.” Derek stepped forward from the shadows. He wore his combat clothes, and was currently slipping off his leather and steel plated gloves.

“It is improper.” Stiles held his head high and turned away, walking briskly down the hall towards his chambers.

“Please, My prince.” Derek hurried after the younger man, and when close took his elbow and stepped in front of him. “This past week has moved so quickly I felt like I haven’t gotten a moment of quiet with you.”

 

Stiles avoided eye contact and spoke, “Please unhand me.”

“Talk to me! Give me but a moment.” Derek snapped. “Would you please look at me?”  


Sliding his grip downwards he took the prince's hand and pulled him close. “I want us to talk the way we used to. You’ve become so distant lately.”  


Stiles remained silent, but he did not pull away from his touch, so Derek held hope that the prince's icy behaviour was perhaps just a mood.

 

Derek huffed out an irritated breath and ran a hand through his dirty hair. He should not lose his temper with his fiancé. Giving himself a moment to pull back the fire and fight that always simmered below he tried again, this time speaking softly.

“Please, Stiles, we used to seek out each others company so often, and now I find it hard to have a moment with you.”  


“It can never be that way again, you cannot have me as your husband and friend.” The prince shot him a fiery look.

 

“I don’t understand.” Derek uttered, confusion etched into his tight expression.

 “It matters not. We are marrying tomorrow.” Stiles looked away and wet his lips, and Derek mistook this for a positive sign.  


“Yes.” He smiled, “While our courtship had been strained by the war I am glad we have come to this moment.”

 

Stiles frowned and looked at the floor, not understanding the general’s notion of courtship nor remembering any.  


“Tomorrow we will have a Beacon Lights bonding ceremony.” Derek interrupted the prince's thoughts, “But once we reach Triskelion we will be able to have another celebration.”

 

Stiles was silent once more and Derek felt his grin falter. He found himself fighting between being civil and forceful, and was frustrated that he should even be feeling that while talking with his fiancé. After a moment's hesitation, he spoke once more. “I believe we can be husbands and friends, My prince. Our marriage will only strengthen our affection.”

 

“I may doubt that.” Stiles responded coolly, stepping away from the alpha, “We are very different you and I, and we have different ways of expressing ourselves. Please forgive me. I will see you tomorrow. Good night.” And with that dismissal, Stiles turned on his heel and left the corridor.

 

Derek stood bereft for a moment. He felt confused at the prince's chilly behaviour, the obvious dismissal, and the sudden personality switch. But mostly he felt anger.

 

Thinking he knew what was going on he rushed after the prince. Not caring as he raced passed maids and page boys.

Not bothering to call out to the prince he simply grasped his robe and yanked him back, unfamiliar with having to be gentle so regularly.

The prince looked up at him startled, but Derek carried on. He stepped in front of the prince and spoke.

“I do not know what you have been taught, but I want to marry you. The authentic and sincere prince that I met upon the walls, you do not need stand on ceremony with me. Whatever someone has told you an omega should act like towards their fiancé-“ Derek threw his hands up, “You may be yourself with me, I want you to feel the freedom of the wilderness as I have.”

 

He watched as a small frown marred the Omegas brow, his lips twitching into a tight pout as if in deep thought. Letting out a quiet chuckle Derek quickly lent forward and kissed the prince. His lips were lush and warm, and the pout made them extra plush. Keeping the kiss chaste he pulled back quickly and licked his lips. Nodding to his fiancé he brushed and hand down the prince's arm and stepped away. “Until tomorrow. Sweet dreams my dear prince.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you chum chums for taking the time to comment, honestly nothing motivates a writer more than comments :) 
> 
> Danke to DarkAthena for the Beta! :>


	6. The Wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I try to update on the weekends so sorry for the delay.
> 
> I love visual aids for stories.  
> So here are three. Two for Stiles' wedding attire (sorry I couldn't find better quality)  
> Fany outfit [One](http://image.wikifoundry.com/image/1/72OWNBUVCeoY8Q0sPYfNJw1018730/GW473H333)  
> [Two](http://image.wikifoundry.com/image/1/p54KudGvIerBep-apX4Ajw117750/GW294H224)  
> And one of a [Torc](https://static.webshopapp.com/shops/032318/files/032209920/600x600x2/celtic-torc-ipswitch.jpg%20) for those who don't know what the fuck that is :)

 

At first light of morning, Derek was with his lieutenant taking stock of their immediate payment. Three low wagons; all handcrafted with battle-scarred logs, rickety wheels were being checked over and fixed up with long iron nails and rough rope. As his soldiers helped prepare the wagons Jordan stood off to the side, parchment and charcoal in his hand as he counted, and inspected the goods they were owed.

Although Derek was soon needed in the Palace to be dressed and prepared for his ceremony at noon, he preferred to spend the early morning keeping busy.

As the soldiers were occupied Derek hefted down large sacks and opened them up for his lieutenant, then weighed them on the market scales.

 

“That’s 80kg of Sugar” Jordan mumbled, scratching down the amount before gesturing for Derek to replace it.

After hauling numerous sacks onto the scales and placing them in another pile the general spoke, careful to keep his voice low,

“The prince is acting strangely.”

 

“Strange how, exactly?” Jordan asked, his brows drawn together in concentration as he wrote down another figure.

 

“He is distant, dismissive…he’s unlike the Captain I know.” Derek rubbed his neck. He had trimmed his beard and shaved the trailing scruff on his neck and the skin was still sensitive and distracting.

 

“Well, perhaps that’s your answer,” Jordan replied, frowning down at a sack of silver coins.

 

“And what answer would that be?” Derek asked, hefting up the valuable sack and weighing it. “185kg.”

“You met him as a soldier, he now has to act as a prince once more. They are very different worlds, General.”

 

“Well, he will have no need for that title in time.” Derek grinned. Looking up at the rising sun he rolled his shoulders and nodded to his lieutenant, “I’ll leave you with this. I have a wedding to prepare for.”

Jordan waved him off, more than happy to be left taking stock of their hard-won payment.

 

 

~

Prince Mieczyslaw stood in his room, three tailors making final adjustments on his clothing. In different circumstances, he would have thought he looked pretty in his storm-grey long doublet. It was open at the chest, showing a lighter silver shirt underneath. It was embroidered with silver thread but thankfully the doublet was not overly embellished. He now wore trunk hosen which billowed out about his thighs then cliched tight at his knees. According to Lydia, it was the height of fashion yet Stiles would have traded it all in for his britches.  The silver silk blouse stuck uncomfortably to his already sweaty skin, but any smell that may have come about was drowned out by the heavy rose and jasmine perfume he had been dabbed with. His blue silk scarf with the pearls sewn in was pulled tight around his neck.

Once the tailors were done fussing, Lydia stepped forward and dabbed blush to his cheeks. Though Stiles was so nervous and the weather was turning so cold that he doubted he needed the ridiculous rouge.

Lastly, his delicate silver crown was placed upon his head.

His father soon entered his chambers and all were dismissed. His father was holding a lavish mantle; Made from lush velvet; silver, blue, with threads of gold, and thick white fur lining the cloak. The Beacons Light insignia was embodied on the back. It was his mother's, the same mantle his father had placed upon her shoulders when they were married. 

Stiles looked away as his father stepped forward and placed the heavy cloak on his shoulders. “This was your mother's.”

“I know.” He ran his fingers through the soft white fur, disappointed that the mantle held no scent of her.

“You know what is expected of you-“ His father began walking about him for a moment and brushing lint off the shoulders of the cloak, “-as your mother did on our bonding day. We grew to love one another.”

“But she was a princess and you a prince.”

 

“The general is a fine alpha; he may be a brute and uneducated, low in class and lacking in sophistication. But he has a castle and an army. He is a strong alpha and you’ll do right by him.”

 

As his father took a step back to inspect his appearance Stiles felt his resistance bubbling to the surface, that once tightly controlled rebellion that had an outlet in the military, only to be drowned out once more shot to the surface in a fit of anger.

“I do not wish to be a husband! To be delegated to the chambers and made to sew and embroider! I will not be shut in again!”

 

The king quickly stepped forward and raised his hand but stopped short of striking his son. “That attitude has no place here today!”

 

Stiles flinched and looked away, the fight that had burst free now felt stifled, a feeling he was too accustomed to before the war. 

 

“I won’t have you looking so morose on your wedding day!” The king tugged the lapels of Stiles’ robe and straightening it out, “All those years in the army have made you forget your place.”

 

“But father-” Stiles began softly but was quickly silenced.

 

“You are a prince for Talos' sake! And bonding for your cities safety has always been your duty.” The walked king around the prince to inspect the back of robe and make certain it was hanging correctly.

Stiles felt contrite and looked at the floor in shame; it was a painful reminder that his freedom in the military was only ever temporary.  A thought came to him and he spoke, “But what of my betrothal to Captain Raeken?”

 

“Put your head on, boy, that was always a formality so that I would win you a better match. Now smile and listen to your new alpha. I will bear no shame that you bring on my name. The moment you leave this room, that attitude of yours is to stay behind. I will not bear the shame of having a disobedient son, nor bear to listen to any tales of a prince who acted worse than the peasants in his new land.”

 

“Yes, father.”

 

King Noah took a step back and squared his shoulders. “I want you to be happy, boy, and you will find happiness in obedience.”

“I am sorry, father.”

 

The king sighed and placed a hand on his son's shoulder, taking no notice of the flinch it caused. “I do you love, son, and while I know you are not accustomed to such a brutish alpha, you will endure and find strength in this trial Talos has bestowed upon you,” the king paused and gave his son a rare smile, “you are strong, you will survive this.”

 

 

~

Over the past few days, the commoners had been busy clearing the rubble as best they could from the largest market square. The largest boulders that had crashed in the first month of the siege could not be moved without building machines or being mined for months until they were moveable pieces.

The flagstone pathway was scarred with scorch marks, yet the commoners had achieved a great feat in preparation for the wedding.

The large courtyard had been cleared and where boulders still rested at the sides people gathered and sat for a higher view of the ceremony. Garlands of beautiful wildflowers hung from stone arches, underneath doorways, twisted about flag poles, and were placed all over the court breaking up the grey landscape.

 

Stiles stood at the Palace steps, and from where he stood with his guard escort, he could see the crowd below. The streets were lined with smiling and cheering commoners. Small children threw paper flowers and ribbons and makeshift flags were waved in the air as he was paraded towards the courtyard.

In years past the streets would have been bursting, people would have had to stay in their houses and wave from the windows. But now there were fewer people and plenty of room on the cobbled streets, and very soon Stiles had made the journey from the Palace steps, through the elegant yet scarred West Quarter, through the common market area, over the stone bridge and through to the courtyard.

He always knew this day would come, but he still felt unprepared. It felt too soon and out of his control. As if he were being pushed out to sea with only a taut rope tied to the stern pulling him towards his intended direction.

People were playing instruments; flutes and drums hailed his arrival into the courtyard.

Yet through the fog of his misery, the commoners and nobles who occupied the broken courtyard appeared delighted and some overjoyed. His father had said a wedding was what the city needed to heal. Dropping his eyes so that he did not have to view his husband and father upon the dais, he thought of his duty and the debt he owed General Hale, once friend now very soon alpha husband.

He could see his brother standing to the side of the dais. He wore bright new robes for the ceremony. Blue and silver, yet more subdued and masculine then Stiles wedding attire;

borage flowers lined his path, and Stiles felt sad as his feet crushed those pretty little purple flowers with a sharp white and purple heart.

He was aware when his guard escort began to pull away from him, and instead lined his path. Their royal blue capes catching the cold wind.

Too soon he stepped up the dais and looked up at his father. Two fires burnt brightly on each side, and Stiles stole a glance at the fire nearest his fiancé. The General wore new attire that was above his station.

He wore a brocade cotehardie with silver studs placed over the entire long coat in a diamond formation. With matching suede britches and boots he cut an imposing figure. The dark material slimmed his thick waist yet his shoulders still looked as wide. His thick black hair had been combed but had become swept about as the wind rushed over the courtyard. His fiancé was everything an alpha could aspire to look like, yet the man's towering and muscled form only made Stiles feel smaller and vulnerable.

Swallowing his dread Stiles lowered his head and knelt before his father.

All his focus shrunk until he could neither hear the crowd, music nor the speech his father was giving. He could only hear his ragged breath.

 

Stiles stayed on his knees until his father’s roughened palm grasped his own and pulled him to stand.

“I have relinquished my rights as alpha. I now gift my son to a worthy alpha. Who is he who shall take my place!?”  The king bellowed, the statement a traditional one.

 

“I am that alpha, and I rightfully take this Omega as my own.” Derek’s voice was louder than his father's, and held an iron quality to be expected in a war general.

 

“Name yourself, Sir, and why you are worthy?” The king replied, his arms sweeping wide in a very theatrical gesture. Stiles still stood at his side, simply a minor character to this stage production that was the wedding ceremony.

Derek stepped forward; he clasped a fist to his heart and knelt on one knee before rising again. “I am Derek Hale, Ruler of the Wolf Clan of Triskelion; War General boasting one hundred and seventy-six victories and a large castle with many subjects. You shall find no other alpha stronger, nor one who has mastered the art of war better. I am the Wolf on the battlefield, red stains my fangs and mud coats my paws. I am the Wolf who gives peace- Vigilant and tenacious in my pursuits.”

 

The king did not reply for several moments, enjoying the suspense before he bowed his head and gently pushed Stiles forward. “Then before my subjects who act as witness to this union, I find you worthy. I gift my son to you.”

The king carefully took the crown from his son's head and let it hang loosely in his fingers.

Stiles’ eyes flickered up and met his fiancé's but quickly glanced down again. Taking a breath, he kneeled down at his fiancé's feet. His mantle was quickly removed and Stiles bit his lip as a wave of remorse washed over him as his fiancé threw the mantle over the fire. The cloak quickly catching alight.

Stiles couldn’t tear his eyes away, even as he felt the heavy weight of Derek’s own cloak settle over his shoulders. Strong hands slipped under his own and slowly pulled him to his feet. Derek stepped into his space and tugged the cloak around him. It was a black wolf pelt. He held the cloak in place with a golden cloak clasp, holding each side together so that it wouldn’t slip.

 

Stiles could see the alpha was grinning, and he felt a prickle of fear as he saw the mans canines. Very quickly those hands adjusting his cloak untied his silk scarf and tossed it upon the fire. He stood dumbly as the alpha returned and ran his rough hands over the sensitive skin of his neck. The sensation of being touched there, coupled with his nervousness caused Stiles to gasp softly in surprise.

Jordan stepped forward with a plush cushion holding two torcs. Derek took one and Stiles swallowed nervously as the general turned towards him with the symbol of their marriage. Both torcs were made with twisted gold. Four large rods were woven together in such a delicate manner that they rivalled his crown. Each torc was shaped like a C and upon each end the gold looped back into the design. Within the centre of each loop was a wolf's head with rubies for eyes with a simple mountain shape behind it.

Derek stepped forward and Stiles barely had a moment to admire the finer details upon his own before his chin was being tilted up and the torc was forcing its way about his throat. He held his breath and watched his husband's forearms strain with the tension from the gold as he tried to force it wide enough not to bruise his skin.

Once the torc was fitted and sitting coldly against his throat Stiles reached for his husband's. It was only slightly larger than his own and held the same design, as all marriage torcs were expected to appear.

As he took the neck piece and held it up towards his husband's throat the man smiled, “do not strain yourself, force it on and I will heal.”

Stiles frowned slightly and then tried his hardest to get the tight piece of jewellery about his husband's throat.

Once on, with only faint red markings about his throat, Stiles took a step back. 

Yet his husband only reached out and took him by his hands. He pulled him in close and Stiles swallowed nervously.

Stiles closed his eyes in panic as the general leaned forward. A strong arm round about his waist and pulled him flush to the man's body, while the other trailed thick fingers through his hair and grasped.

Warm and demanding lips were pressed against his. Instinctively he tried to move away, but the action only caused his husband to slant his mouth and deepen the kiss. A tongue dragged across his lip and Stiles quivered from the unknown sensation. He opened his mouth, perhaps to ask his husband to stop or request he keep it chaste but the action only gave cause for his husband to slip his tongue inside and plunder his mouth. His tongue stilled in shock at the unknown sensation as his husband dragged his tongue against the roof of his mouth until it pushed up against his. He shuddered at the feeling and moaned in protest but it only seemed to spur his husband on.

Suddenly he felt himself falling and his eyes snapped open as his arms flung out. His hands gripped his husband's strong shoulders while the man tipped him backward and held him in a romantic dip.

He was given one more filthy kiss before being righted and released from the close embrace. And then suddenly the overwhelming sounds crashed back in. He could hear the crowds cheering and the trumpets, flutes, and drums blaring and saw his husbands smiling eyes looking back at him.

Resisting the urge to touch his sore lips he looked into the sun, for any tears that fell could be blamed on either the light or the supposed merry moment. Before him the people were cheering, throwing paper flowers and waving flags in jubilation.

 

He touched the gold about his neck and sucked in a breath. There was no going back, he was married.

 

 

**The Great Hall.**

The celebrations for the bonding ceremony had been going for some hours now, and were just as dull as the first celebratory feast Derek had attended. There was no raucous cheering or games. And while people appeared deeper in their cups and more willing to show their pleasure it was still incredibly uptight.

 

At least the music was more upbeat than the first feast. A hurdy-gurdy and horns were played along with hand drums and flutes. Couples were encouraged to dance while the feast continued and at least that was entertaining.

 

Derek had been granted to invite not one but two guests. So at the end of the long head table sat Jordan and Boyd. And while the feast was dull Derek was incredibly joyful. By his side sat his Husband. Stiles was still distant, but he would give him time. Today had been a big day for the young Omega and it still had not ended.

The King had given speeches, as had the Prince Heir, who had only praised his brother and had given Derek very thinly veiled threats. Derek cared not, whatever gave the little upstart comfort.

 

 

“My petal, are you well?” Derek asked, leaning over to his husband and whispering in his ear. The Prince only gently nodded his head and ate another piece of plum pudding. Derek entwined their hands together and smiled at him. “I am glad.”

 

“I shall have to tell the cook at home how sweet your tooth is,” Derek grinned, still leaning close and watching his beautiful husband.

Stiles gave no reply, seeming to be content to eat his fill of dessert.

 

Still holding his husband's hand Derek was content to watch the dancers before him. Earlier in the feast he had requested a dance, but Stiles had refused and convinced him that he would not dance for the entire night. The denial seemed a little petulant, but Derek was not too bothered. Figuring the young man's refusal was born from being judged from such an uptight crowd. The Omega would find his pleasure in dancing in Triskelion.

Instead Derek stated his desire to touch his husband. Derek grinned and kissed his husband's knuckles before lacing their fingers together. He had always admired the Prince's delicate wrists, long fingers and the strong veins that weaved through the back of his hands. He could only suppose that the Prince's hands were once incredibly smooth and lacked all the strength they now possessed.

Idling tracing his goblet with his index finger Derek sat back and took delight in watching his husband delicately eat another plum pudding one-handed.

Derek could feel his husband become frustrated, and while he showed no outward expressions, beside the tensing of his jaw, the way his grip tightened was telling enough. Derek grinned and flexed his hand, testing the grip.

 

“If you are so famished for sweets, perhaps I could feed you?” Without waiting for an answer, Derek cut a slice of a cream tart and held it towards his husband. The slice balanced on the dainty gold cutlery and Stiles pursed his lips before shooting a look over the hall and back.

 

“Come now-“ Derek urged, moving closer, “I won’t hear the excuse that you don’t like this kind.”

Stiles opened his mouth to argue but Derek was never one to give up on an opportunity when it appeared so perfectly. Before his husband could speak Derek slipped the cake into his waiting mouth. His eyes were transfixed as the creamy cake smeared on his upper lip. The boy’s amber eyes wide in surprise and embarrassment. Derek gently pulled the fork free and quickly cut another piece.

“Please I am quite- hmmm” In pushed another slice of cake and Stiles quickly reached for a serviette to clean his lips while he swallowed, but Derek was faster.

 

Reaching out his fingers brushed against his husband's chin and cheek and angled his face closer. Letting his hold widen he wiped his thumb across his upper lip ever so slowly and pulled back. He kept eye contact with his husband as he slipped his thumb into his own mouth and moaned around the taste before pulling it free.

“Delicious.”

Derek leaned back into his seat and smirked, taking a quick look around the hall he could see several nobles staring at the exchange, and once again pulled the husband's hand to his lips.

Soon the dancing couples retired back to the tables and jesters and acrobats filled the space. Derek had expected the jesters to make comedy at the royal families and his own expense, an act he was looking forward to. However perhaps the situation was not appropriate, for the jesters only joined the acrobats in preforming areal masterpieces and dancing about with ribbons while reciting poetry.

His husband looked delighted enough with the performance, and so Derek sat back and enjoyed what he could.

The night continued in such a fashion; plenty of food and drink, dancing, performances and several more speeches. Thankfully after many hours, the King rose from his seat and the hall fell silent.

 

“As is custom, we will bid the bonded pair farewell and good night. May the stars and moon bless your union and bring you many children.” The King raised his cup and was followed suit by the rest of the guests.

 

Derek's brows knitted in temporary confusion. He kept forgetting how different each cities customs were. In Triskelion they would either have been chased to their tent or allowed to slink off silently depending on the couple’s disposition. Yet he supposed it was also different for Royals.

Derek stood and bowed towards the King then crowd. Squeezing his hand about the Princes’ reassuringly he pulled the Omega to stand by his side. Even in his firm grasp, he could feel how the other was trembling so. The poor thing was frightened.

Bowing once again Derek turned to the King and he escorted them from the Great Hall towards the corridor that would lead them to their wedding chambers.

 

“General.” The King spoke, a firm hand on the Alphas shoulders, “While such a speech is tradition, I am pressed to remind you of our agreement. While you both may stay in the same chamber to keep up appearances I will not allow anything untoward to happen to my Son.”

 

“Of course, My King.” Derek nodded his consent.

The King gave him a shrewd once over before stepping over to his son. “Please give us but a moment, Alpha Hale.”

Derek walked several paces ahead and waited. His form was blanketed by moonlight streaming in through the end window.

 

The King took the Prince by the arm and lead him to a hanging tapestry.

“The General is not to touch you tonight. It is within the marriage contract that you must wait to consummate the marriage until your Heat. Do you understand?”

 

“Yes, Father.”

 

“And for Talos sake boy, drop your attitude and smile!” The King hissed, his fingers digging into the boy's arm.

 

“Yes, Father.” Stiles bit out, a tight smile pulling at his lips.

The King gave him a quick kiss on the forehead before leaving the corridor and returning to the Great Hall.

Stiles hesitated a moment, listening to the cheering as his father returned. He could hear the saccharine shout of “Such amorous love between them! They left me bereft as they quickened their pace towards their chambers!”

 

Laughing and cheering followed and Stiles let out an annoyed huff. Feeling secure in the knowledge his father had given him he turned and walked towards his husband.

Their Chambers were Stiles’ room, and maids had decorated the room to appear romantic; with wildflowers scattered, coloured candles lit, the smell of roasted lavender and camomile lingered in the air. The fire had been lit, but Stiles wished it had been forgotten. At least then he’d have an excuse not to remove his thick clothing or the heavy wolf pelt still about his shoulders.

“I had only dreamed this moment.” Derek stood behind him, gently stripping him of the cloak and tossing it on the bed. The man's hands returned to smooth over his shoulder and slip down his torso. Greedy in their exploration they spread about his body, pressing him back into the tall Alpha.

Stiles quickly gripped those strong hands, but was unable to deter them from roaming down to his thighs. “P-please,General.”

 

Derek pressed his mouth to the Princes neck, his stubble rough over sensitive skin. “I am no longer your General, I am your husband. I wish for you to call me either Husband or Derek.”

 

“Please, my father said you could not!” Stiles protested, trapped in the man's arms.

Derek licked a stripe up the boy's neck, causing him to squeak and try to pull away. The boy's innocent struggles were delicious. “I promise you I will not fuck you before your heat.”

 

The crass words caused Stiles to blush in shame. A sudden and awful reminder of who he was now married to.

 

“Then please unhand me.”

 

“I could never deny you anything. But I wish we were familiar with one another before your heat. It will surely come fast.” Derek allowed his hands to slide away, and Stiles quickly stepped from his embrace.

 

 

Feeling like a trapped and desprite bird, Stiles raised his hands to his face and turned away from his husband. “But not this night, it is too soon.”

 

“My brave Prince-“ Derek chuckled, “I have seen you stare into the face of slaughter atop your wall several times, yet you shy away from me?”

 

Stiles could not reply, knowing he could not express his true feeling to his husband. In the past, he may have too dreamt of being held by the General, but now he felt the choice had been taken away and what was once a desire now become duty.

 

“I am sorry, but surely Captain Raeken exchanged heated embraces with you.”

 

“Never!” Stiles shot back, his cheeks red as he turned to face his husband. It was not a wise decision. His husband was unbuttoning his black cotehardie to reveal a loose linen shirt underneath.

 

He turned back and tried to continue, “He was a gentleman, we never kissed.”

 

“Never kissed?” Derek questioned, confusion clear in his voice. “Surely you’re…”

The Alpha's confusion and his many questions about Stiles’ sexual knowledge hung in the air, and Stiles was loath to volunteer such lacking information.

“It is nothing to be ashamed of, I am sure it’s common in Royal households,” Derek said gently, as if chastity were strange concepts in Triskelion; as if being pure on ones wedding night was considered unimportant.

 

“I wish to retire to bed. I am tired.” Stiles snapped. Arms crossed about his chest. He longed for the whole damn night to be behind him.

 

“Then allow me to join you.”

 

Stiles stayed staring out the window for several moments while he heard the Alpha undress.

“I did not anticipate you’d be such a shy violet.” Derek laughed, walking up to the Prince in only a long linen shirt. His hairy thighs bare as were his forearms where he rolled up the material. In the military, there was always the illusion of people being larger and bulkier than they were, armour, chainmail, and extra padding always made the slim look more formidable. Yet seeing his husband in nothing than a long nightshirt he could truly recognise just how bulky and tall his husband was. If anything, he looked more intimidating with his muscles bared.

 

Stiles tensed and looked to the side, his arms crossed tightly.

 

“Would you allow me to undress-“

 

“Certainly not!” Stiles snapped, “I am more than capable.”

 

“Of course, Mieczyslaw -“ the Generals use of his formal name was jarring and Stiles looked at him in surprise, “-but I wish to undress you. I have often fantasised how you would look bare before me.” The Alpha's eyes drifted down the Princes form as he spoke.

 

“I…” Stiles paused and stepped away from his husband. He walked towards the changing screen and thought for a moment. While he wished to stay completely covered, he knew he’d have to change into his sleeping attire.

 

“You wish for privacy?” The Alpha questioned, an amused smile curving his mouth.

Behind the wooden changing screen, Stiles did not answer. Instead, he simply shed his clothes quickly and dressed into what the maids had left him. Letting his eyes drift shut for a moment in abject dismay he quickly dressed into the fine silk chemise. The yoke and hem was beautifully embroidered with colourful wildflowers and itinerant bumble bees.

Pulling the night gown down so that it sat on his knees Stiles hid behind the screen for as long as he dared.

 

Reluctantly he stepped from his hiding place and viewed his husband now waiting on their bed. The Alpha was propped up on one elbow, partially reclined by his plush blue cushions and watching him carefully like some beast. His hairy and muscular thighs were on full display and once his husband saw him watching him, let his thighs spread ever so slowly as to allow the gap between to widen and cause the eyes to follow the line from thigh upwards to the shadow of his groin.

Stiles shot back into the screen, almost tripping over his discarded clothes. From the bed, he heard the Alpha laugh.

 

“Come here Miecz’. I only wish to hold you tonight.”

 

“If that is your intent then I recquire you to wear pants!” Stiles snapped.

The Alpha only laughed in reply and the Prince heard the bed creak. “Surely you wish me to be comfortable-“

 

Stiles’ breath caught in his throat as his husband appeared before him. “-I want us to both be comfortable with one another.”

 

Stiles gripped the hem of his chemise and looked to the ground. He now felt trapped and terribly vulnerable.

 

“You are truly the sweetest treasure," the Alpha stepped forward and gripped the boy's chin and titled his gaze upwards.

“There is no need to fret. I’ll change my attire if it makes you so uncomfortable.” And with that Derek stepped away from him and returned to the fireplace and the chair where he placed his bonding attire. Without preamble the Alpha pulled his linen night shirt up over his head; exposing his broad muscled back, firm bottom and strong thighs. The firelight made his skin glow golden and shadows danced over his husbands exposed skin.

Stiles couldn’t help but gawk, never having been exposed to such a sight. His husband tilted his head and looked over his shoulder, a knowing smile on his lips.

 

Stiles snapped his eyes shut and swung around, hitting the dressing screen in the process and nearly toppling it over. He waited with bated breath for several moments until he left a presence behind him. Slowly turning around and forcing his eyes upwards he saw his husband before him, but he now appeared more undressed than before.

 

“Please Miecz’.” The Alpha began, a hint of laugher in his voice, “you may lower your eyes I am covered.”

 

Nodding his head, Stiles swallowed nervously and lowered his gaze from the sight of his husband’s wide and hairy chest. He had swapped his nightshirt for his pair of britches. Derek held out a hand and Stiles reluctantly took it. He was coaxed from behind the screen and lead back into the room. With each step his husband's smile grew, and he felt as if he were being treated like a shaken mare, ready to bolt at any moment from the fear of the unknown. For some, it may have been endearing treatment, but he only felt patronised.

Even so, he couldn’t help it as his gaze continuously settled on his husband's naked chest. Slanted collar bones joined rounded shoulders, each coiled with muscles. His pectorals had a contradictory appearance of seeming firm with hard muscle yet inviting to rest upon with the thick thatch of hair covering them. Brown nipples were soft looking in the warm room and were most distracting. He couldn’t help but think of his own puffy red nipples and naked smooth chest in comparison. Smoothing one hand down his linen chemise his eyes followed the path of the Alphas black curling chest hair that trailed down to the top of his britches, where he could spy a thick vein disappearing underneath. There was no doubt that his husband was far superior in strength and masculinity. And while it was expected of male Omegas to appear slightly feminine in some regards it was still frustrating at just how handsome and masculine his husband was.

 

In his private moments, Stiles had always watched the Alpha haul weaponry or war machines, sleeves rolled up and hairy forearms straining under exceptional weight. The man was built like a war machine himself. Heavy, deadly and sharpened to perfection for his craft.

With all his distracted staring Stiles hadn’t noticed that they had stopped near the bed. His husband still holding his hand, letting him drink his fill of his beauty while he waited.

Before he could stumble over an apology there came a sharp knock at the side door. Derek instinctively stepped closer to block him from view.

 

“Yes?” Stiles answered, thinking it must be a maid.

 

“Brother, it is I. Allow me to enter.”

Derek opened his mouth to reply but the door was already open and Stiles was pulling away. Before the Alpha could speak the Prince Heir was addressing the Prince in a fast manner.

 

“I have arranged a separate room for this evening. I apologise for the delays. Father should have told you this.”

 

“There will be no need.” Derek stepped forward. Shoulders pulled back and head held high.

 

“Sincerest apologises, Alpha Hale, but upon the marriage contract-“

 

“I promised not to touch him.”

 

“And separating my brother will insure that.”

 

“You question my honour!?” Derek snapped, stepping closer to the Prince Heir.

 

“D-Derek, please.” Stiles stuttered, gently pressing a hand against the Alphas chest and pushing him back.

 

“He is my husband, and I will have him with me this night.”

 

“While he is still in the palace he is still under my protection, once he has left the city then you may give practice to your promise. Until then I will escort my brother to another room.” Scott took Stiles arm and pulled him towards the exit.

Stiles’ body tensed all over when he saw his husband move for his broadsword. “Please Derek, allow me one night. My brother means no insult. And I do not wish to see my two Alphas fight.”

 

Surprisingly Derek’s hand retreated before he touched the handle and he simply nodded to the Prince. “Of course, whatever you wish.”

 

Scott stood by the door, hand resting upon his sword hilt. Stiles swallowed and shook his head at his brother. “I will come brother, but please give me a moment.”

Scott let him go, but still held to his sword, watching the General with the eyes of a hawk.

Knowing it was in his best interest Stiles stepped forward and placed a chaste kiss upon his husband's cheek before wishing him a peaceful sleep. His brother handed him a night robe and together they retreated through the doorway.

 

Scott lead him through the candlelit corridor, the carpeted carpet underfoot was chilled by the stone floor underneath. Soon they came to his brother's chambers and Scott allowed Stiles to enter first.

 

 

“I thought you were taking me to another room for the night?”

 

“Do not fret; I will take you to your own room soon. But I have something important to discuss with you.” Scott walked over to his fireplace and sat down in one of his lush red chairs. He gestured for Stiles to follow. Between them sat a small round table, on top sat a bunch of brown hide purses.

 

“I have a plan for you brother, a plan I could share with no other.” Scott sat toward, hands clasped together as he spoke with urgency.

Stiles’ eyes widened in interest.

 

“I have bought the apothecaries silence, but more than that their love for you has guaranteed the confidentiality and clout of their work. But you must head the instruction.”

 

“I don’t understand brother.”

 

“I placed a binding agreement in the marriage contract; Alpha Hale is not to mate with you until you experience your Heat. Until that moment you are unable to consummate your marriage.”

 

Stiles frowned down at the little purses, trying to follow his brothers logic. “Yes, I am aware. But it is understood that a newly bonded Omega will…go into that state quite quickly.”

 

“Indeed. But if you take these herbs morning and night-“ Scott held up a bag and opened it up to show his brother the contents, “-it will delay your heat indefinitely.”

 

“And what good will that achieve?”

 

“The time these herbs grant us will allow me to find clause for a divorce, and without consummating the marriage the chances for divorce will be guaranteed.”

 

Stiles looked into the small purse. Inside it simply looked like tea.

 

“Brother, you are a genius!”

 

“Indeed I am!” Scott laughed. “Now the apothecary guaranteed not only the effectiveness but also the herbs ability to be disguised as a Northern Tea. But brother, you must take these punctually.”

 

Stiles smiled up at his brother and felt his shoulder loosen some tension. He was saved. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Danke for all the wonderful comments :) they really make my day.  
> More visual aids occassionally? 
> 
> Danke danke to DarkAthena for the Beta :3


	7. The Journey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here on there will be additional tags. I didn't want to choke up the summary, so keep an eye out for warnings.
> 
> Tag for this chapter - Unintentional Domestic Violence 
> 
> Images for this chapter.  
> [Dereks horse fuck look at that size](http://i.imgur.com/zrXko4z.jpg)
> 
>  
> 
> [Stiles' horse](http://www.globetrotting.com.au/wp-content/uploads/2016/11/Barb-1024x640.jpg%20)
> 
>  
> 
> Sorry for the delay :s  
> Danke to DarkAthena for the Beta "3

 

**The next morning.**

By morning all the makeshift wagons were loaded and the horses saddled. There seemed to be organized chaos by the front gates as the mercenaries prepared to leave. The sun had not fully risen but many commoners had woken early to bid the mercenaries farewell.

 

Stiles stood on the stone stairwell that entered into the marketplace closest to the front gates. Beside him stood Scott and his father. Below he could see his husband dressed in his usual mercenary attire and ordering soldiers and porters about. They were scheduled to depart within twenty minutes.

His small trunk of belongings was already placed securely on one of the wagons but Stiles was skeptical of the wagons makeshift build and how it would fare on the long journey. It would at least be safe from the elements as animal hides were tied over the supplies with thick coarse rope.

His father had given him one of the cities few remaining horses for the long journey to Triskelion. It was a shabby looking tan and white Barb breed with haunted eyes but devoid of all fear. It stood a comfortable 13 hands high and was probably once a farm horse. Compared to the mercenary’s warhorses you could see in the beast’s eyes how it had come from a peaceful life and suffered through the war. The horse was tied to his husband’s war horse; a great tall beast with a midnight black coat that stood a startling twenty hands high. He had only ever seen the mercenaries warhorses from the distance and had never fully acknowledged just how tall or muscular they were. He had heard they were called Belgian or Finnish horses, draft horses that had been trained for any task the mercenaries put them to.

 

Although his father argued greatly Stiles wore his leather britches and boots that he wore regularly in the military. He had compromised to forgo his leather armour and instead wore his silver and blue doublet. Atop his head, he still wore his crown. His father had gifted it back to him this morning, he would still be a Prince in title but not in power. The crown would serve as a keep safe from his home, as his husband had allowed him to pack very little.

“Come now!-“ his husband called, waving him over, “-I want you ready and in position.”

The King turned to speak to one of the few nobles who had gathered to bid farewell.

 

“Come, I’ll escort you.” Scott gently took his elbow and together they descended the stone steps. As they walked Scott leaned in close and spoke, “I have had a pouch of suppression tea placed in the satchel on your horse, and four others are in your trunk. Drink a cup morning and night-“ Scott turned to face him as they stepped onto the first stone platform that led to another stone descent into the common area, “-and do not fear, I will find a way to free you of this, but you must follow my instructions and write to me.”

 

Stiles hugged his brother tightly, pressing his face into his chest as he sought comfort, “Thank you brother, I will do exactly as you say.”

They held each other until their father descended the steps and cleared his throat.

 

“Come now.” The King patted his sons on their shoulders and smiled, “you will see one another again, of that I am sure.”

 

“Yes, have courage brother, as you once did upon the wall.” Scott smiled and kissed him on his forehead.

 

Released from his brothers embrace, Stiles turned to face his father.  “I know you will make me proud Son. And know that while Alpha Hale has your loyalty now, Beacons Light will need your voice and care when he wishes to change trade agreements. Remember that.”

 

“Yes, father.” Stiles stepped close to hug his father but stopped short. The action too unfamiliar to enact. Instead, the King placed both hands upon his shoulders and looked at him fondly, “So beautiful. Just like your mother. Do your duty as she would.”

 

“Yes, father.” The king released him with a final pat upon his shoulders. Stiles turned with his head held high and descended the stone steps towards the stone platform that looked out over the marketplace and separated the upper-class from the lower.

“Prince Mieczyslaw.” At the end of the steps knelt a young man. The man stood and clasped a fist to his heart and bowed. “I am Daniel Maelahni, your friend, and chaperone.”

Stiles gave the Beta a once over. He wore similar armour to the mercenaries and was armed with a sword and crossbow.

“I am glad to finally meet you. My husband spoke highly of you.”

“You honour me, Highness.” Knight Danny smiled up at him then stood. Glancing about him he turned to face the Prince once more, “I am honoured you have chosen me as your companion. I will serve you to the best of my abilities.”

Stiles took the Knights hands and smiled back, “I am sure we will be good friends, Knight Maelahni.”

“If I may be so bold, your highness, please call me Danny.”

Stiles nodded and replied, “Then please call me as Stiles, as my friends do. For I will no longer be a prince in my new home.”

Danny gave him a brilliant smile and Stiles felt the first sense of relief. Already being in the presence of this kind Beta he felt settled and reassured. He would not be alone on this harrowing journey, he would have a friend in Danny, he was sure.

“Come now, your husband awaits.” The King spoke, walking down the steps and followed by the nobility. Once on equal footing with his son, he placed his hands upon his shoulders. He gave them a reassuring squeeze and placed a kiss on his crown.  And with a gentle tap on his shoulders, Stiles was sent off down the Commoners steps and into the crowded square. It was not the farewell he had hoped for, but he was unsure how to engage his father in a meaningful way. Instead of returning and giving his father one final embrace, Stiles continued into the crowd, followed closely by Danny.

 

Once at the head of the crowd, Stiles took his horses reigns and gently petted the Barb. About him, soldiers moved passed with supplies, saddles, weaponry and bulging sacks. He could hear his husband's voiced over the top of the crowd dealing out orders.

Danny left him for a moment to retrieve his own horse and Stiles was left alone amongst the chaos. From where he stood he could look up at the city steps and view his austere father and brother, watching carefully over the commotion. He tried to make eye contact with Lady Lydia, in the hopes that perhaps she may come down and keep him company for a while. But she was busy smiling demurely and twisting a strand of her hair while she spoke with a nobleman’s son.

 

Stiles looked away and focused on quietly speaking to his new companion. “I worry you may be my only true companion where I am going. But, it’ll be good to leave behind the war, won’t it?” Stiles petted his horse and smiled as the horse sneezed and tossed his head.

“I suppose I should give you a name, no doubt you had one when you were on your farm. Though perhaps a new name is in order anyway? We’re both entering a new stage of life, so perhaps I should name you Argus. Hmm, what do you think of that?”

 

“A fierce name for a warhorse if ever I heard one.”

Stiles turned to the voice and through the crowd came his husband.

“He is a warhorse no longer.” The Prince turned back to Argus and pretended to fix the reigns in his hands.

“He is a she.” Derek laughed.

Stiles didn’t respond, instead, he focused on Danny’s arrival through the crowd.

 

Without warning his husband's strong hands were wrapped around his waist and lifting him clear off the ground. He startled for a moment but was quickly settled on his horse. Blushing to his hairline at being so easily Alpha-handled he could only nod his gratitude to his husband and avoid all eye contact. His husband patted his thigh, “It looks good on you.” Stiles felt a tug on his cloak and looked down to see his husband smiling up at him and fiddling with his marriage cloak. Stiles jerked his head in response and looked away, hand strangling the reins in his unease.

His husband left his side then untethered his horse. Stiles watched as Derek wrapped a hand about the saddle horn and lunged up and upon his huge beast of a horse, it was with such grace and strength that for a moment Stiles was reminded of how much he once admired the Alpha from afar.

Next to him Danny easily mounted his own horse and within a matter of moments all the mercenaries were upon their horses and wagons and awaiting orders to depart.

 

Derek gave a shout to move forward and Stiles’ horse followed Derek's warhorse as it begun to trot forward.

As the city gates neared a wave of panic crashed over him. This entire nightmare was coming to life. He was going to leave his family and city forever unless his brother could find grounds for a divorce.

The crowds about them cheered and the trumpets and drums echoed about the mountain face. With one last look over his shoulder he saw his father and brother upon the steps, emotion welled up and tears threatened to spill. He was not ready to leave.

The congregate pushed forward and soon Prince Mieczyslaw was outside the city walls.

 

*

 

Danny had informed him that the ride to Triskelion would take three and a half days. There was no need to push the horses to exhaustion so there were plenty of respites from the riding.

 

Argus was a most diligent and kind companion who never stomped her hoofs or tried to buck him off during the ride, and Stiles was silently thankful that he had been given a calm horse. He was no horseman as the mercenaries seemed to be, and he would have been ashamed if he had been bucked off through his distracted riding.

They rode for a solid four hours before making a short stop at the river Katarn to water the horses and stretch their legs. In that short break Stiles stayed tense; anticipating a visit from his husband but he did not see that man. Very soon they were back on the road.

The next time they made a short stop for their horses it was much later in the day, as the sun shone directly above. During the journey, Stiles could shift his focus and instead take delight in the new and beautiful scenery as they officially left Beacon’s Light Hold. It was the furthest he had ever traveled and he was excited to see new farmsteads in the distance that had escaped the enemies wrath.

The day continued smoothly until just before dusk when the troop veered off road and up a sloping hillside.

As they neared the crest Stiles heard his husband shout out a command.

“Iron fist camp formation, I want the Prince to feel safe.”

 

Stiles watched in fascination as each mercenary dismounted and moved their horses off to different locations. The wagons were brought into the center and very quickly he found himself pushed to the sidelines as the chaos continued. After a few moments, Danny came over on foot and passed him a waterskin.

“I suggest you dismount and take a moment my Prince.”

Stiles carefully dismounted his tall horse and took a mouthful of water. Wiping the excess from his lips he gestured to the many mercenaries moving wagons and throwing large sacks from the back.

“We are setting up camp.” He stated.

“Yes, it will be finished within the hour.”

Stiles’ eyes widened. There were over 4,000 soldiers and 900 horses, not to mention the many wagons that followed behind at a slow pace.

“Come, fetch your longbow. We’re joining the hunting party.”

Stiles quickly looked about, “Does General Hale know?”

Slinging his crow bow over his back Danny flashed him a smile, “He was the one who suggested you join. Now come, my Prince, we have many hungry mouths to feed.”

 

*

Within forty minutes the hunting party consisting of thirty-six seasoned hunters and trappers along with Danny and Stiles arrived back to the finished camp. Their loot consisted of pigeons, rabbits, crows and enough wild rats to supplement their rations for the night.

As they entered the clearing Danny and Stiles left the others to gut and de-feather.

The Prince did not want to witness such a thing, and out of their entire catch had only been able to shoot one plump pigeon from its roost. He knew tonight he would not partake in such vermin filled meal.  

It was strange but Danny seemed to know exactly where to go. They weaved through tents, wagons, campfires, and horses before they came to what Danny had announced was the General’s tent.

It was a simple triangle shaped tent; two beams overlapping and clinched by a peg in the center made the entire tent stable on either end. Derek’s tent was similar in size to the others and the only obvious difference was that the top of the beams were carved into the shape of a snarling wolf head. The tent was clad in thick hide and coarse linen. Stiles couldn’t help but grimace at the state of the material, he had imagined a perfect line of white tents, but the tents were worn and weathered. Dark tan and charcoal black tents were settled into a circular design. 

 

“Why does he not have a banner or a flag?”

Danny placed his crossbow inside his own tent across from the Generals and turned to Stiles still looking ahead.

“Why would he want to broadcast his location?”

Turning with a frown the Prince replied, “How else would his soldiers find him?”

Danny laughed and walked closer, “The Wolf Clan have 15 camp formations in preparation for different terrain. The soldiers are well versed in these and don’t need a map. Having a flag or banner outside his tent is a clear target for enemies who could fire flaming arrows or try to assassinate him in his sleep.”

The discussion did nothing to settle his nerves.

“Well then-“ Stiles cleared his throat and looked about him, “-I think I may retire for the night.”

“Of course my Prince, should you need anything I’ll be right here.”

Stiles nodded and walked towards his tent. He had expected Danny to follow him, he was meant to be his companion and servant, but perhaps Derek had arranged another knight for his nightly routine.

Pulling back the flap he walked in and stopped short, letting the material fall behind him. Stiles was lost for words, surely this could not be the quarters for him; a prince. It looked like a storage tent.

It was cramped with a dirt floor, trunks stored atop one another on one side, a short fat table sat in the middle with three candles atop, and a pile of furls and linen was wrapped to one side.

 

The prince looked about for several moments in shock before turning around with the intent of finding his actual quarters. But as soon as he turned the flap opened and in stepped his husband.

“Darling-“ Derek leaned forward and kissed Stiles’ cheek.

 

Moving past his quiet husband Derek removed his gauntlets and dropped them to the table with a loud _clank_ , “-I know our accommodation is not what you’re used to, but it is only for the night.”

Stiles cleared his throat, unsure how to respond when he was expected to sleep inside a dirty tent with a dirt floor. “Of course.”

Turning around Derek smiled and ran a hand through his hair, “Now you must be hungry. There are plenty of furs, please make yourself comfortable until I arrive with our meal.”

As Derek moved past him towards the flap Stiles stopped him with a gentle touch on his forearm. “I would like to bathe before supper, perhaps if the servants would prepare me a bath?”

Derek's brow twitched in confusion before he kissed the Princes’ cheek once more and smiled, “I’ll see what I can come up with.”

“Thank you.”  


As his husband left and he was sure he was far enough away Stiles let out an irritated growl. He wasn’t exactly sure how he was meant to get _comfortable_. There were no seats, no fire, no bath, and no maid. Furthermore, his bottom and thighs ached from the long ride, the only remedy would be a massage by a fire. But he would not have that his night and he would not ask his husband to soothe his aches.

He stood in agitation for several moments, unsure where to begin. Casting an annoyed look at the wrapped linen and furs he went about pulling off his riding boots, dropping his fur cloak atop the pile, and untying his leather braces. Lastly, he removed his plush doublet but did not feel comfortable enough to remove any more clothing. Brushing a hand down his fine tunic he looked about for some sort of cloth to place under the bath. Or perhaps he had been mistaken, and this was where he was to undress and store his clothing while a separate bathing and sleeping tent were being prepared. Hoping that he was correct he gingerly sat down upon the furs and watched the flickering candles.

“Here-“ Derek pushed open the flap and walked in with a wooden bucket, “-while it’s still warm.”

He placed the bucket at his feet and handed Stiles a white rag. Derek smiled down at him and Stiles didn’t know what to do or say. What was he meant to _do_ with this?

Chuckling Derek patted Stiles’ hair, “I’ll give you a moment unless of course, you’d like me to help you bathe. I assure you I can keep my touches to a minimum.”

The prince's mouth fell slack as he took in the information; he was meant to bathe with only a rag and a bucket of warm water. His husband expected him to stand stark naked on a dirt floor and wash himself.

Stiles snapped his mouth shut at the touch of his husband's rough fingertips sweeping over top.

“I’ll leave you to freshen up then.”

Derek left the tent and Stiles dropped the rag into the bucket. His lips trembling and his eyes watering at where he found himself.

 

He sat staring at the bucket of steaming water until it turned cold. He could not nor would not degrade himself by washing in such a manner. His chest ached and he longed for home. He was not born for this nor did he deserve this. He felt so lost, so pulled from his roots that he could only hug himself tightly and wish for home.

Stiles hadn’t moved by the time Derek returned with two wooden bowls of stew. As he entered he took in the sight of his husband unchanged by the filled bucket. Unsure of what to make of such a sight he sat down beside the archer and passed him a bowl.

“Turnip and watercress stew. Yours has the pigeon.”

Stiles dumbly took the bowl and looked into the murky brown liquid.

“I was told you shot a pigeon on the hunting trip.” Derek took a slurp of his own stew and bumped shoulders with his quiet husband, “Personally I prefer crow.”

“I-“ Stiles slowly dragged his eyes away from his stew and looked at his grinning husband, “thank you.” He felt numb as he slowly sipped the bland stew. It seemed that his homesickness only grew with each mouthful. There were no spoons, no chairs to sit on, the supper was tasteless and only had sparing ingredients, his husband was a noisy eater who talked with his mouth open, and all the while he was expected to sleep in a pauper’s tent. How could his father marry him into his life? To live as nothing better than a peasant?

Tears stung at his eyes and Stiles forced himself to finish his stew before placing it down on the table and turning away from his husband.

He tried to give himself a moment to gather his resolve, but one moment he was fighting back tears and the next he was gasping for breath.

Hunching over his fingers dug into the earth as his chest tightened and didn’t stop. Each breath was sucked in until the pain in his chest radiated into his skull.

 

“Miez!” Derek quickly placed his bowl on the low table and gave his husband a slap on the back. Hearing that the slapping only seemed to make it worse, Derek frowned and moved until he was kneeling in front.

His brows pinched in confusion for a moment; Stiles’ eyes wide and unseeing, his mouth open and sucking in sharp breaths, yet he still appeared breathless. Realisation dawned on him and Derek was quick to snatch up his husband's shoulders and force him to sit straight. Raising the boy's chin Derek slapped him across the cheek. Stile’s head snapped to the side and his eyes screwed shut.

“Miez, C'mon! Snap out of it.”

Raising his hand Derek slapped him again, the loud thwack silencing Stiles’ gasps for a moment.

Derek snarled and stood up, letting Stiles drop down and clutch at the earth. He rushed from the tent and ripped open Danny’s tent flap. “Come now! Something is wrong!”

The knight wasn’t given a moment to respond as Derek ran back to his tent.

Inside Stiles was still on his knees. Derek stood over him, his hands spread and his eyes frightened and beseeching. “Help him! I cannot force him from this!”

Danny snapped into action and dropped in front of the Prince.

“Prince Miezchlaw? Please, can you hear me?”

Stiles could only respond with a broken sob and a gasp for breath.

“Come now, breath with me.” Danny snatched up the Prince's hand and placed it on his chest, “It’s alright, just copy my breaths.” Placing his hand on the young man's chest Danny gave an exaggerated breath in and then out.

It took several moments, but soon the Prince’s gasps broke and he was able to bring his breathing back to normal.

The Prince's face was ruddy, cheeks stained with tears and a sharp red mark on one cheek.

“You hit him?” Danny asked.

Derek knelt and slipped a hand over Stiles’ shoulder. “I thought it would snap him out of it.”

Danny closed his eyes and let out an annoyed sigh. “He is not one of your soldiers, general, he is a Prince and he was having a panic attack, you cannot be heavy handed with him.”

“A panic attack? About what?” Derek scoffed, speaking as if Stiles wasn’t sitting between them.

“I don’t know, but my cousin suffered from them and sometimes the cause was not known.”

Derek rolled his eyes and stood, “An affliction only found in high society no doubt.”

“Danny.” Stiles spoke, his voice thick and unsettled, “please stay.”

“You’ll be fine my prince,” he ran his hand over the boy's red cheek and found it hot to the touch. Looking up at the general Danny cared not for his position as he glared up at the Alpha, “How hard did you hit him?”

“I slapped him, a simple tap, nothing that will bruise.”

They locked eyes for a heated moment before Danny broke the gaze and smiled down at the prince.

“It’s ok, Stiles, Derek was only trying to get you to snap out of your panic, it’s ok, Alphas can be a little heavy-handed sometimes.”

Danny rubbed the Prince's shoulders and found himself hugging the prince as the boy slumped forward into his embrace, “I miss home Danny, I don’t want to be here.” He whispered, but the tent was so quiet that Derek heard the words loud and clear.

“That’s enough,” Derek began, “-you may leave.”

“The prince requested that I stay,” Danny replied, smoothing his hands over the boy's back.

Derek looked on in annoyance, he should be comforting his husband.

“I can see to him, Maelahni, now move aside. That’s an order.”

With great reluctance, Danny pulled away from the prince and stood. “You need the comfort of your husband, Stiles, trust me, you’re alright.”

Danny left the tent and Derek and Stiles were left alone once more. Kneeling down Derek brushed a hand over his husbands stinging cheek, “I am sorry for striking you, I realise now it was unnecessary.”

Slipping his hands under Stiles’ arms he hefted the silent Prince to his feet and moved him to stand by the crates on the other side of the tent.

Derek united the furs and linen and quickly arranged their bed.

“Come,” Derek turned and gestured for Stiles to come near, “you must be tired.”

 

Keeping his eyes downcast Stiles walked to the mess on the floor and slipped into the mass of furs. Turning away from his husband Stiles pulled the furs about his neck. The floor was hard, uneven and cold.

“I’ll be there in a moment.”

He could hear movement and then the sound of a rag dunking in water and being wrung out. For the next few minutes, Stiles was forced to stare at the dank material of his sleeping quarters while behind him his husband washed his privates.

Tears slipped free and Stiles dug a little deeper into the furs.

Once somewhat clean and only left in his tunic and britches Derek blew out the candles and grabbed the thick black wolf cloak from Stiles’ clothing and placed it over his husband.

Pulling his own tunic over his head and tossing it to the side Derek spoke as he slipped under the furs. “It can get very cold at night, wake me if you feel a chill.”

Stiles tensed as strong arms wrapped themselves around his stomach and pulled him flush against a broad chest. Stiles’ skin crawled as he felt his husband's damp chest press into his back. He became hyperaware of how close he was to his husband; he could feel each exhale, each twice of muscle and the startling warmth. 

 

“I grew up in the mountains,” Stiles grumbled.

 

“A heated palace in the mountains, very different from camping.”

 

The noise of the mercenary camp and that shadows that passed over the tent distracted both for a moment, and Stiles felt another wave of homesickness. He sucked in a whimper and turned his face into their makeshift linen pillow.

“I know this is all new to you.” Derek whispered, his beard scratching at Stiles' neck as he leaned in close. “but I want you to be comfortable with me. You can rely on me for anything you need.”

Stiles sucked in a breath and let out a sob, “I want to go home.”

 

Derek did not reply, instead, he closed his eyes and took in the warmth and scent of his husband. Stiles would come to realise that there was nothing to fear, and in time would revel in the new found freedom. But just like any captured creature, freedom was daunting and almost terrifying until they found their way. Derek would just have to guide him.

But perhaps he had overestimated just how well his young husband could cope, for in a matter or moments Stiles began to cry and his attempts at soothing only caused the Omega to cry harder and fight against him. Derek tried to sooth the boy by rubbing his stomach and chest, but it only caused Stiles to whimper and pull at his hands. Then Stiles began to thrash, and Derek narrowly missed being elbowed in the face as the prince fought the furs and his husband.

“Miez! You need to calm down, you’re going to get yourself in a state.” Derek pulled Stiles over until he was lying on his back and he was hovering above him, “Get a hold of yourself.” Derek growled, tightening his hold on the boy's wrists.

If anything, it only served Stiles to cry harder and press his face into the pillow.

“At this rate, you’ll damn well suffocate yourself.” Derek pushed himself off his husband and tossed the furs over his trembling body.

 

Derek gave an angered guff and left the tent.

“Danny!” Derek hissed outside the knight’s tent.

Danny left his tent once more and quickly followed the general inside.

“He’s becoming hysterical.”

“Did you do anything?” Danny asked, coming to kneel by the Prince’s bedside.

Derek only glared in response and crossed his arms.

“I only ask because he is fragile.”

“He is not fragile, he’s just being petulant.”

“Well then-“ Danny sighed and ran a palm over the trembling furs, “bring me a kettle and his tea, we’ll try to calm his nerves,” 

Once the tea was brewing in a little wooden cup Danny coaxed Stiles into sitting up. Derek still stood to the side, his expression mixed between concerned and impatient. The knight had lit the three candles while they waited for the prince to speak.

Stiles drank his tea in silence, only bringing his gaze from the dirt floor to glance at Danny and pat the furs beside him.

“My prince” Danny began uneasily. The Knight looked at Derek who stepped forward and quickly took his place at his husband's side. The Prince flinched and turned his gaze away.

“General, may I please have a word?” Danny stood and gestured to the outside.

Derek nodded sharply and followed the Beta outside the tent.

“What’s wrong with him?” Derek questioned, folding his arms and looking about the camp that was beginning to settle down.

“I believe he’s just overwhelmed, he’s been sheltered and-“

“He’s a damn Captain.” Derek scoffed.

“General please, he’s frightened, please don’t take his personally but I believe he’s overwhelmed by your presence and the situation he is in.”

“He’ll get used to it.” Derek frowned.

“I think we should ease him into this. The Prince and Captain Raeken barely embraced, I believe tonight is too much.”

“Then what do you suggest? We sleep in different tents until he’s used to the sight of me?” Derek snarled, fed up and wanting to fix this.

“If I may General, I would like to volunteer my presence in your tent, just a simple bedroll so that the Prince feels secure…” At the general's deep frown and bared teeth, Danny quickly continued, “he’s been chaperoned his whole life general, please don’t forget he is a prince.”

The harsh deep breaths coming from the Alpha could be seen in the chilly night air and Danny worried he overstepped his very tenuous position.

“Fine, get your damn things!” Derek snapped and swept back into the tent.

 

As Derek stepped into the tent he was met with the image of his husband sitting upon the furs, empty cup in his loose hands and staring down at the ground with red-rimmed eyes. The sight was disconcerting, the Omega was acting like he’d just been in the heat of battle, not in his marriage bed.

Snapping his gaze away Derek rolled his shoulders and stepped over towards the bed.

“Danny will be joining us tonight, so there’s no need to fret.” Bending down he took the cup from his unresponsive husband and placed it on the low table.

Walking around him he slipped under the furs with his back turned, “Get some sleep, we rise at dawn.”

Very soon Danny came inside and set up his sleeping roll on the other side of the low table. With a smile he arranged his bedding and got inside, “I’ll be right here my prince.”

Without a word, Stiles began to crawl towards Danny and the knight stared wide =-eyed as the prince pulled back his furs and attempted to join him.

“My prince.” Danny hissed, and over the mess of the Omega's head saw the general stir and turn to face them.

The man's glare was like molten gold with the flickering candle reflected and Danny felt a deathly chill race down his spine.

Before him Stiles wiped his eyes and held back a sob, “please, Danny, I’m frightened.”

Keeping watch on the Alpha, Danny very slowly lifted the furs and the prince crept in.

“You may comfort him this night-“ The Alpha began in a steely and inpatient voice, “-but know that in Triskelion we still practice Death by a Thousand Cuts for crimes deemed worthy.”

Danny swallowed nervously and pulled the trembling Omega closer, “Yes, General.”  


It was going to be a long night.

 

 


	8. The Journey pt.2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry for the delay, been to sick to write :(  
> but not too sick for fortnight ;)

The next morning.  
Derek was in a foul mood. He knew there would be transition issues. He expected the prince to be home sick, but he had thought that the excitement of the journey, something the prince had spoken longingly for months now would ease his discomfort. He thought he’d help ease his husband’s discomfort. And yet his new husband had slept in the arms of a knight. 

He was keen to forget about the night and move on.

The camp was already half disassembled, and after having breakfast, he reluctantly returned to his tent to rouse his husband.  
“Miez’” Derek spoke as soon as he pulled back the tent flap, “You need to be dressed and awake within the next twenty minutes.”  
Thankfully Knight Maelahni was already with the other troops packing up the camp, and only his husbands remained under the covers. Nudging him with his boot, Derek knelt and removed the furs. “Up! You can sup on horseback.”

Stiles rolled over; his eyes were squinted and brows furrowed. “A bath?”  
“No time, up!” Derek left the tent and helped pack up.

 

*  
The company travelled for two more days. Each night as unfulfilling as the last. Miez had sobbed and demanded the knight’s presence before bed, and unable to calm his husband, Derek had agreed. Fortunately, these events hadn’t spread about the camp. His reputation for being private had saved Derek’s reputation for now, but it was only a matter of time before some of his boisterous and less reserved Alpha soldiers started asking for intimate details.  
However, this blessed reprieve was not to last. It was on the last night before they arrived in Triskelion that Derek walked through the camp and the questions that he could no longer avoid came about. 

After another uncomfortable meal with his husband Derek left their tent for the company of those who wouldn’t reject him. Among the camp there were many comfort fires with soldiers and medics alike sharing a meal and enjoying each other company. Derek walked through the camp, periodically stopping and talking to soldiers as he went. Some men were eager to arrive home, others were nomadic and would continue on the road once they reached Triskelion, while some were deep in mourning for the friends and mates they had lost.  
Derek came to a stop at the comfort fire near the camp boundary. There sat Boyd, Jordan, Ethan and Aiden. As he came close and sat on a vacant stump they raised their cups in greeting. Derek had hoped they’d continue the conversation they were obviously having, but they were far more interested in why he wasn’t in his tent with his young mate.  
“Kick you out already, did he?” Ethan laughed, his smile glowing across the firelight.  
His brother punched him in the side and quickly continued, “I’d imagine he’d be sore, s’more like it.”  
Body handed him a cup of warm mead and Derek gladly took the distraction to think of a response. Perhaps sitting down alongside Ethan and Aiden was a foolish move.  
Yet as he opened his mouth Jorden spoke first, “I heard you stationed that Knight in your tent with the lad while you’re out.”  
The expression that Jordan wore gave the firm impression that he was putting a blockade in front of any lies Derek might suddenly feel the need to build. For whatever damn reason.

“Aye, he’s nervous out of his home land.”

“He’s a pretty young thing, ain’t he.” Aiden commented, leaning back and staring up at the stars. 

“Maybe I should get a mate?” 

Boyd kicked at rocks lining the fire and sent a gust of sparks towards to two Alpha twins. “No decent Omega would ever mate with you, you’re the definition of a camp slut if ever I saw one.”

Even Derek joined in with laughter with Aiden couldn’t disagree. He shrugged his shoulders and gave a coy smile. “So tell us about that boy of yours?”

“You really think his virtue is in danger without a knight at his beck and call?” Ethan chimed in.  
“It’s not his virtue-“ Derek let out a breath and relaxed into his seat, “-he’s nervous, and it gives him peace of mind.”

“So…” Aiden drawled, “how is your boy? He all tight laced, or a howling vixen under those furs?” 

“Aye! That’s what we’ve all been wondering.” Boyd laughed, smacking Derek on the arm.

“And that is something that none shall know, only I have the pleasure of knowing such things.”

“So he is sore then!” Ethan laughed.  
“He needs settling,” Aiden smirked, and the twins shared a look.

“Your damn lucky there’s no Omega soldiers about us, they’d give you a shiner for that.”

“Nothing to tone my voice down for! I’ve had some of them come to me, looking to calm their nerves, it’s just instinct on their part.”

Derek kept quiet and waited for confirmation on what settling was, though he had a vague notion.

“Just ‘cause you’ve fucked your way around the entire camp.” Jordan groused. 

“Oi! It’s all consensual, and it helps ‘em keep calm. All I’m saying is that the Prince-“

Boyd cut in with an eye-roll, “If you say he just needs a good fuck to bring that colour back into his cheeks you’d be wrong. He’s no doubt getting enough of that.”

Derek kept a passive expression, not wanting his soldiers to know that he hadn’t and couldn’t bed the Prince yet.

“No, no, no,” Ethan shook his head, “Look Derek, can I speak as just an Alpha for a moment now?”

“Thought that’s what you been doing this whole time.” Derek groused, resting his elbows on his knees. 

“How you giving it to him? ‘Cause I bet we all got our favourite positions to put ‘em into, but I find the best way to deal with a grumpy little Omega to remind them of their place. That instinctual fuck; hold ‘em down, make ‘em take it and they’ll thank you for it, you know they’re different from Betas, can’t fuck ‘em the same-“

“He’s fucking mated for Talos sake.” Jordan sneered, “You don’t start like that in a mating.”

“What the fuck would you know?” Ethan shot back, “I’ve fucked more than you-“

“-And I’m mated, you insolent fuck, the Prince won’t react too kindly-“

“Lads, lads-“ Boy interrupted, “Enough of how to fuck the Prince, give the General time. This ain’t his first Omega, don’t insult him by presuming he don’t know what to do.”

Thankfully yet unfortunately the conversation steered away from sex with the prince for a moment, to discuss sex with Betas.  
Unbeknownst to his soldiers, Derek’s sexual history was short. He had a reputation for flirtations and amorous embraces, but it often did not go further than that. Often when he did have sex with some he discovered he found more release in fighting then in fucking. Though he found people attractive enough, few ever made his blood boil with lust. The Prince was one such lad, and only now was Derek wishing he had some experience with Omegas and how ‘they liked to be handled’.  
As Derek contemplated his minor sex life the conversation had moved back onto his Prince, Boyd’s voice snapped him from his thoughts. 

“He’s a sad sort of kid, isn’t he?” Boyd questioned, “Always looking forlorn.”

“He’s homesick.” Derek stressed.

“He must be happy he’s got that knight from his motherland with him?” Aiden asked, clearly confused at the notion of homesick.

“Aye, knight Maelahni is a comfort to him.”

“Not too much, I hope!” Ethan laughed, and the rest joined in. 

“He seemed quite smitten with you in Beacons Light, but that shine has tarnished,” Boyd sighed, taking a deep gulp of his mead, “Don’t know why you do it. Those city boys never do fit in with us lot and he seems a fickle lad.”

“Fuck” Derek growled, “He’s no fickle! He’s just…” He gestured his hands about trying to think of the right description to his husband’s strange behaviour. 

“Young,” Jordan finished unhelpfully, “Or perhaps; sheltered.” 

Aiden butted in before Derek could reprimand his lieutenant, “Now don’t start that age bullshit, Cora is about the same age no doubt, and there’s plenty who have taken a young mate. You can’t be harassing the General for falling for a young little Lilly like the prince!”  
The twins laughed for a moment, and the conversation briefly steered to excitement of returning to Triskelion, and with it Derek’s rising temper was to lessen. But Jordan had not yet finished, and when he spoke he soured the mood once more.  
“Is the Prince’s skin that delicate, or did I see a bruise on it the day before last.”

“He probably stepped out of line,” Ethan joked.

“Probably bruises like a peach with that milky white skin,” Aiden joined in.

Derek stood up and poured the remaining mead from his cup on the fire, “You’d think I beat my own kin?”

“I’m not saying, the proof is there,” Jordan replied easily, lounging back. 

“He’s delicate!” Derek sneered. “I raised my hand only to calm him.”

“And did that work?” Jordan asked with a calculated smirk, “how did the Prince react to such heavy-handed care?”

“He aint a Prince no more,” Ethan chimed in. 

“He’ll adapt,” Derek growled, tossing the wooden cup into the darkness

“He’s a bad choice Derek,” Jordan frowned, placing his cup to the ground.

“I didn’t ask your damn opinion!” Derek shouted.

“Jordan,” Boyd began, “stop setting the foxes amongst the hens, Derek’s having a long night, and there’s adjustments needed in any mating.”

Jordan stood up across from Derek, “There’s no adjustment there, he’s a fucking Prince and you can’t give him what he expects or needs.”

“Stay the fuck out of my mated life, Jordan. If you say one more comment I will physically remind you why I am Alpha General, and you will enter Triskelion with more than a few bruises.”  
The threat being made Derek stared the other Alpha down until and easy truce was made and he returned to his tent.  
The entire trip had been frustrating on many levels, but Derek hoped to at least salvage some of it before the next night when they entered the city boundaries. 

When Derek entered his tent his mood did not improve. His reluctant husband was sitting on the furs, bowl of salted cod stew sat at his feet untouched with his head in his knees. Only an empty wooden cup and three candles sat atop the table.  
He could only roll his eyes at the pathetic sight and begin to get undressed.  
“Tomorrow eve we will reach Triskelion. I hope that a proper bed and roof will lift your spirits.”  
The boys reply was only a sniffle.  
“Eat your soup, we leave again at dawn.” Derek unlaced his leather vest, and toed off his boots.  
“I can’t-“ came the muffled reply, “-the salt is too much…and, and the fish still has bones in it.”  
Derek stood contemplating his husband in disbelief and annoyance. His fierce Captain of the wall had turned into a snivelling upper class child. Unable to say anything other than an insult, Derek picked up the bowl and finished off his meal.  
“You best hope you wake early enough to retrieve bread from the embers in the morning, lest you be hungry for the rest of the journey.” Derek crunched down the flaky skin of the cod and spat the bones to the dirt floor.  
“You’d let me starve.” Stiles turned his face towards his husband. His face was blotchy red with tear trails lining his dirty face.  
Derek merely raised his eyebrow and offered the boy back the bowl.  
Turning his face away he heard his husband mutter, “a fate worse than starvation.”  
Once knight Maelahni took to bed with the Prince, Derek fell into an annoyed and confused sleep. 

 

*  
Tonight knight Melahni was not attentive like he was the first night. He lay with his back facing Stiles, and the Prince would not lower himself to ask the knight to comfort him again, when his husband who lay mere feet away would no doubt hear.  
With each passing night Stiles’ misery grew and sleep did not come easy. Throughout this travel he was sore, cold, hungry, miserable and lonely. His new husband had been sharp and short with him at every turn, and would often scoff at his simple requests for a bath or a roasted and seasoned meal. It did not bode well for his marriage, and Stiles could only diligently drink his tea and pray to Talos that his brother would rescue him from this cruel fate.  
In these dark cold and lonely nights the Price could not help but think upon moments in the past where the General had been so sweet and gentle. The façade no longer needed now that he had his prize. Stiles quietly sobbed into his coarse furs and snuggled closer to his Beta companion.  
Memories swam before him as he searched for sleep, and soon he was brought back to a time in the palace, six months after the mercenaries had arrived. 

 

~  
Stiles was sitting outside the war room where the generals had been discussing a new strategy. He had been appointed Captain several weeks ago, and as he was in charge of the archers upon the outer wall he had assumed he was needed for such an important discussion. Yet upon arriving with a list of recommendations he was barred from entering and told to take leave of the day. 

Foolishly the thought that at some point the generals would need an insiders opinion, and thus waited by the door for three hours.  
When the door finally opened Stiles shot up and stood straight, yet he was only met with the backs of the generals as they left the room. “Brother, brother!”  
Stiles weaved through the armoured crowd and found his brother talking to the newly appointed mercenary general Derek Hale. “Excuse me.”

“What is it now?” Scott asked, crossing his arms over his armoured chest and looking bored.  
“I have a list of recommendations in regards to the outer wall. I’ve drawn up several war machine designs that I believe-“  
“Fanciful inventions aren’t going to free us from a siege, little brother.”  
“but if you just-“  
“I don’t have time for this. There’s a reason why Omegas aren’t permitted within the war room, and if you’d just listen to me once you’d save time for more important things, and stop of wasting parchment.” 

Stiles frowned and opened his mouth to argue, but this brother waved a hand at him and turned. “Now leave us, the general and I have much to discuss.”  
His fingers clenched his parchment and his jaw tensed in anger, but mostly he was embarrassed at being dismissed so casually. Hadn’t he earned the title of Captain?  
The mercenary leader gave him a soft smile, but it only served to make the prince feel belittled and irrelevant.  
Later that evening Stiles had decided to take the late shift upon the wall. He hadn’t been able to shift his frustrated mood all day and hoped that being in the only place in the palace that made sense would clear his mind. 

He was warming his hands by the brazier when he heard someone walking up the stone steps to his station.  
Out of the darkness came the mercenary leader and Stiles would only gawk in surprise as the man walked up and joined him by the fire.  
“Good evening Captain.” 

“Evening General.” Stiles salutes. 

Rubbing his hands together the general looked over the wasteland below and smiled. “it becomes quite chilly up here, even in summer.”

“The mountain keeps us quite cold.”

“Yet no wind? Tis very strange.”

“Oh well I suppose. My tutor said it is because the wind travels from the north and catches the tip of the mountain, it flows right over head. He says we are too sheltered in the mountains bosom to experience the full effect.”  
“Excellent condition for your archers no doubt, perhaps that’s your secret?” Derek smirked and Stiles was glad for the warmth of the fire to hide his blush. The Alpha was a handsome man and the prince wasn’t accustomed to being treated so casually by an unmated Alpha. 

“You spoke of designs today?”  
“Oh.” Stiles looked away and sighed.

“Oh?” Derek laughed, “is that all?”

“Perhaps my brother is right, it is a silly thing after all.”  
“Humour me.”  
Stiles ducked his head, “please do not make fun of me, general, I do not have as much experience as you. I am very aware of this.”  
Derek stepped about the brazier and took him gently by the elbow. “I meant no offence, your highness. With all sincerity I am interested in new designs.”

“but I do not know things, not, not a lot about weapons and war.”  
“yet, you felt confident enough to draw them, and even try to share them with your obtuse brother.” Derek smiled and leaned down a little, “I promise I am not making a joke of you.”  
Stiles couldn’t stop the coy smile that graced his lips as the general stared at him in such an inviting manner, and he didn’t want to hold himself back anymore.  
He told him of his ideas that would improve the safety and productivity of the archers upon the walls. He told him about different tactics they could use should the enemy scale the walls. And soon they moved from the fire to lean against the parapet as Stiles drew images in the air of a cross bow that could hold several bolts and fire rapidly one after the other. 

During the time the general did not laugh, nor scoff at his ideas and Stiles felt himself wanting to spend the whole night with the Alpha. He had never had someone so interested in what he was saying before. And each time he became too excited and mixed his words the general would softly laugh and ask him to continue. The Alpha too grew excited and offered his own ideas, and opinions on the princes’.  
Yet all too soon they could hear the footsteps of an archer arriving to relieve the prince of his shift and the general sigh and gave him a soft look as if he, too, did not want the night to end.  
“You are a fine captain, your highness. I do not agree with your lands rules that an Omega cannot enter the war room, yet I know there is naught we can do to change it. But, please, rest assured that your concerns regarding your archers will be address upon the next meeting. You have my word.”

“Thank you, general.”  
And with that the general turned and left, leaving only a fire the prince and a confused archer in his wake. 

The next night Stiles was with another archer at the supply room. The veteran archer was going through the bows that needed repairing and showing the captain how to completely restring a bow when the mercenary general walked through the door. The room was lit by wall torches and was filled with organized clutter ranging from a crate of feathers for the arrows, to a wall full of bows only half formed and still being held tightly with bracing. 

“Excuse me, Captain, a moment?”  
Stiles hid his surprise and dusted his hands off. “yes, of course, please excuse me Vaughn.”  
“Captain.” The other archer continued restringing bows as Stiles escorted the general from the room into an empty courtyard just outside.  
“Is something the matter?”  
“There is no news, do not fret.” The general smiled and hid something behind his back.  
“Then to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” Stiles smiled and gestured to a low seat in the middle of the courtyard. The bench was overshadowed by an apple tree, but even still the silver moonlight shown through the leaves and cast eerie shadows at their feet.  
The general sat next to him and smiled as he righted his wolf cloak.  
“Your King granted me access to your great library.”

“That was very generous of him.”

“Generous perhaps. I was in search for some military tactic books, and books on the foundation of your city, just anything really to give us an edge. Have you read any of them?”

Stiles looked smug as he proudly said; “All of them.”

“I’m glad, there is nothing worse than a general who won’t take on good advice.”

Stiles smiled softly at the hidden compliment and nodded his head in agreement. 

“Anyway, that’s not what I came here to discuss with you.” Hale waved his hand about in a dismissive manner. “While I was searching through the tomes I noticed you were missing a very important military history book.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m sure we could ask a courier to find one from another-“

“No need, I have acquired a copy myself. I thought you could add it to your collection.”

“I’m sure my Alphas will be thankful.”

“Actually, I thought it better suited to you Captain.” Derek passed over the book. It is a nondescript book bound in worn leather. 

Derek held the book between them and spoke, “do you accept my gift?”  
“Oh” Stiles politely took the pauper looking book and thanked the general. “I do. Thank you.”  
“I think you will find the subject matter…enlightening.” Derek stood up and smiled down at the prince. “And while I would love nothing more than to spend time with you under an apple tree in the moonlight I’m afraid I have matters to discuss with my lieutenant.”  
Stiles stood and gave a curt bow to the general, “thank you for taking the time for delivering this personally, general.” 

“It is a pleasure, my prince.” Derek bowed deeply and gave the prince one more lingering look before leaving.  
Stiles watched the Alpha leave through the moonlit courtyard before opening the book. 

‘The trials of the Omega Admiral Connor Northstar.’  
‘A biography of the 8th century non-celebrated War hero.’

 

~  
Stiles woke up with a firm hand shaking his shoulder. 

“Come prince. There is a creek nearby, and if we hurry you will be able to bathe before we leave.” Danny was leaning over him, already dressed and clean.  
Stiles frowned about the room and saw no sight of his husband. 

“Come, I have your tea prepared.”  
Stiles shrugged off his furs and reached for his tea. His body felt cold and stiff from the chilly and uncomfortable sleep, and while he felt grimy with dirt he was hesitant about washing in a cold open creek. Stiles wiped the crust from his eyes and finished off his tea.  
“Come now.” Danny helped dress him and ushered him from his tent. The sun had only just risen, and dew still clung to the tents and wooden posts.  
All around them soldiers were busy disassembling their camp while eating breakfast.  
Danny lead him through the camp, through a crop of trees towards the sound of trickling water. Above them, in the autumn coloured canopy, birds twittered away and insects flitted here and there.  
The creek was a shallow cut through the forest. Large boulders and flat rocks forced the creek to curve about and Danny lead him to a section where the creek fell over a rise and created a pool underneath.  
The water was clear and fresh, the birds plenty, and Stiles felt safe with Danny keeping guard. Yet he could take no delight in the morning. The water was cold, the rocks were slimy and he had no soap to wash with. He found no peace, nor joy washing as a peasant and the frown he woke with stayed with him throughout the entire ordeal. Once washed and somewhat dry Danny lead the prince back through the forest back towards the camp.  
He looked about for his horse Argus, and saw his husband walking through the partially disassembled camp leading the Barb towards him. 

“She has been feed, brushed and watered.” Derek handed the reigns to Danny. He closed the distance and kissed the prince on the cheek. 

“Sleep well my love?”

“Fine” Stiles grumbled, unwilling to shift his grimace for the maker of his misfortunes.  
Derek only laughed and kissed him once more. “Tonight we arrive at Triskelion. Fear not our bed at home is something you’re more accustomed to.”  
Stiles could only nod in defeat and watch sleepily as the general conversed with the knight. The term home roused nausea in his gut. This nightmare would not end, it would only get worse.  
Tonight he would see his new home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D Hope y'all enjoyed this chapter 
> 
> Thank you DarkAthena for the beta, gosh I gave her the messiest chapter


	9. The Prince's New Home

The company travelled through forest and field, over open roads and narrow woodland paths. Coming out of one such place they came to a sandy bay. Stiles was confused momentarily as they trotted forward.  
Beside him Danny spoke. “In the spring this whole bay floods with ice water from the mountain pass, but for now we’re able to travel through.”  
Stiles turned to look behind him. Behind the snaking congregate of soldiers, and standing tall in the distance lay his mountain home.  
Danny smiled and spoke, “Aye, you’ve come to the land where the landscape changes as you walk through it. In the winter you cannot travel through the mountain pass, and in the spring this shallow river swells to such heights you need a barge to cross.”

As they trotted across the bay Stiles worried of the horses sinking into the sand or the many wagons becoming bogged. Yet as they moved forward Stiles chastised himself for thinking his husband did not know the area or how to lead this company through the safest route.

The bay stretched on into the horizon, the greenery now behind them.  
They were not able to take a direct route through the bay, as Derek directed them through with military precision. They avoided the soft sand and deceptively deep parts of the river.

The company was silent as they moved through the bay, and Stiles soaked up the last of the days sunlight and enjoyed the splashing of the horses as they moved from sand to water again and again.

Soon grassy fields appeared on the horizon, and behind them the mountains became shadows.

As they moved onto the fields each battalion would quickly dismount and brush their horses down from the sand and grit or check their wagons and tighten their ropes. Stiles had thought this would be a rest, but after only a few minutes of quickly tending to the horses each battalion would mount once more and move forward to make room for the arriving battalion behind them.  


As they traversed the fields and the sun began to shrink into the horizon, Stiles was filled with a sudden fear of the open. The wind whipped across his face and brought with it the howling of wolves and frightening moans of the wind.  
They had entered Triskelion Hold, and while Stiles had once imagined the Flat Lands to be inviting and freeing, he only felt scared. The horizon stretched on into a blur, and Stiles kept scanning the view for any threats.  Each bump and hill that obstructed the view made him nervous and tense, as if someone lay there hiding, or if it hid the den of the wolves he could hear. He was completely out in the open, completely vulnerable. And Stiles knew that if he were out here alone and was attacked he’d have nowhere to hide. With no trees, boulders or even houses he could be easily chased down by the wolves or enemies.

“Do not fear the wolves.” Danny nudged him from his horse and gave him a smile. “They won’t attack such a group as ours.”

Stiles nodded, but he couldn’t keep his frightened curiosity at bay. “But one man?”

“Oh, you’d be torn to pieces.”

“I see, then it’s best to always travel on horse.”

Danny raised a brow. “I don’t believe that’d help you much. These wolves are more cunning than mountain wolves. Fierce and more agile.”

“I did not know we had wolves at home.”

Danny nodded and continued speaking, “I’ve heard that five springs ago while Derek was traveling this very pass a wolf pack attacked and pulled him from Tiberius.”  
  
“Tiberius?”

Danny pointed to his husband a few metres ahead. “His horse. Aye, Tiberius is 20 hands high, but that wolf pulled a fully grown Alpha from the saddle. They both have scars from the attack.”

Stiles craned his neck to try and see the scars on the horse but was unable to get any sort of view.

“Fear not.” Danny grinned.

“What happened to the wolves?”

“He killed most of them. But your husband is a kind Alpha. He knew it was spring. He couldn’t help but kill the parents who attacked, but he wouldn’t kill the pups who’d die without their mother so young. He sought out their den and took three pups back home with him. The other wolves fled with their wounds.”

Enthralled in the story Stiles leant closer to Danny with wide eyes.

“What happened to them?”

“The other wolves? They are still here. It’s their territory, even after their Alpha pair died. There’s been sightings of wolves with deep scars, but I am lucky enough not to have seen them.”

The story did nothing to sooth the princes fear of the Flat Lands. He had thought the mountains were wild and dangerous, yet he had only ever seen mountain goats, and the occasional bear from the outer wall. Nothing as ferocious as Danny had described.

  
As they travelled further into the Flat Lands a sharp figure came into view. It stayed a shadow on the horizon for sometime as the company took route over a wide bridge that crossed over the Katan river, then down a long dirt road.  
As they drew closer and the sun began to set behind the western mountains, the large jagged figure of the Fort of Triskelion came into view.

 

He had great expectations of what the fortress and surrounding village would look like after Derek’s detailed description, yet Stiles had not imagined it looking so primitive.

The fortification of Triskelion sat atop a craggy hilltop that seemed to burst from the surrounding flat lands.  
  
In the previous night’s Derek had informed him further about his new home and what to expect upon arrival. He had boasted that the entire township was made up of five rings. The first, and centre was the Tower. Stiles already knew the history of the tower; how it had once been a check point by neighbouring kingdoms. Yet through neglect the tower was captured by bandits, and with no real ownership and better taxes gained through shipping, no kingdom bothered to recapture the tower. Triskelion had fallen to the bandits and for generations it was known as the Badlands.

It wasn't until The Wolf of the West; Derek and his clan, laid siege to the fort and captured it in an unprecedented 8 days that the fate of the tower changed. By the law of the land the Wolf Clan now owned the fort. They restored the province to its former glory, they were no royalists, but the trade routes opened, the villages returned and as such the High King left them alone.

The second circle was created. The Lodge. A ring shaped building that had views in all directions.  
It was the leader of the mercenaries home and the barracks for the soldiers. It enclosed the tall tower.  
  
As their reputation grew and the bandits numbers dwindled, the destitute, traders and commoners built a village surrounding the hilltop. With the promise of protection and low taxes more people arrived. A stone wall was built by the soldiers to offer protection, and thus the third circle was made.

The forth circle was a crude village, hastened together with mudbrick and timber. Small farmsteads, and many houses occupied the lands. The villagers built themselves a high wall of pikes for protection, and thus the fourth circle was made.

The last and most recent circle was the tent village. This sprawling village was made from commoners who had just arrived. They were either gathering resources and money to build a permeated house, saving to guy a house or shop in the Third or Fourth circle.

Derek had stated that these people who lived in the fifth circle were given the same protection, and often arrived without tents. When Stiles first heard this he scoffed. His husband spoke as if he were the only thing between them and death. Beacons Light accepted refugees, yet nothing of the number his husband spoke of. He had imagined this tent village to be a handful at most.

Yet as the company rode up an incline and reached flat ground once more Stiles was shocked to see a great expanse of flickering lights and the base of the hilltop. As they rode closer the Prince could smell the tent village and see in the fading light the tops of hundreds of tents.

 

Stiles took in the intimidating sight and grimaced. The strong cold wind whipped across his face and caused him to pull his legs higher up on his saddle. The dark clouds above rumbled with the threat of rain.

"A beautiful sight isn't it?"

Stiles glanced towards his husband. The man was riding close, seeming unaffected by the weather as he smiled at his home.  Stiles sighed deeply as he looked ahead once more. He could barely believe he was riding into his new provincial village, to live in a stolen fort with his husband.

"It's impressive." Stiles replied, keeping his head held high. He may hate his current position, but he knew that this wouldn't last for much longer. His brother would rescue him from his fate. He just had to be patient, behave in a princely fashion and not draw attention to his misery.

"I'm glad you like it-" Derek reached over and gripped the princes cold hand holding tightly to the reigns. "-when the weather clears I'll take you riding. You'll love the country."

Stiles’ stomach rolled at the contentment in his husband’s voice.  


As they rode ahead they entered a cluster of trees with a steady river flowing alongside. Derek called four scouts to ride ahead and inform the village of their arrival. As the scouts rode down the road toward the village, Stiles’ anxiety began to rise. He had no idea what to expect from a Clan from the West. Just how many of the rumours were true? Before Stiles could tie his thoughts up with fear Derek leaned across the space between them and snatched up his horse’s reign.

"Pull up, you'll dismount here and ride on with me, come on." Derek tugged their horses to a stop and Stiles began the difficult task of dismounting his mountain of a horse. Stiles patted down his tunic and walked over to his husbands mount. "Why can't I ride in?"

From the intimidating position of his husband, Derek simply looked down at him held out his hand and grasped his forearm before yanking him up onto the saddle. The strength of his new Alpha caused Stiles to gasp as he was hauled up effortlessly. "It's tradition."

Stiles tightly fisted the horn of the saddle as Tiberius started a trot down the road and down into the awaiting village.

The village was a mix between old wooden thatch roof dwellings with scorch marks, some new wooden buildings in much better condition and various military tents set up as permanent dwellings. Despite himself, Stiles found himself pulling closer to his Alpha as the village people crowded around their parade. Despite the frigid weather and that it was nearly dusk, the length of the road from the beginning of the village to the entrance of the forts walls were lined with cheering crowds of people. The excitement of the village was palpable, and Stiles turned to see the entire band of mercenaries file in between them. The company were waving, with many of them already dismounting and surging into the joyous crowds.

As if his Alpha could sense his anxiety, Derek patted Stiles on the waist and let the reigns drop so that he could wave to the crowd. He leant forward to whisper in the Princes ear, the scuff of his short beard brushing against the boys neck. "They’re going to love you, Stiles."

The tent city seemed to sprawl on for miles. The main road they rode on was packed dirt, with various makeshift houses and businesses alongside. They soon passed into the Fourth Circle; the farming village. The entrance was a large archway made from timber. This village was vaster, with large homes and farmsteads. It was obvious in its layout and size that it was intended to be the outer rim of the city.   
Many of the mercenaries behind them dismounted and their horses were taken to the many stables throughout the village.  
  
The farming village had a slight incline, until they eventually rose through a wide stone entrance into the walled city. The third circle; the merchant village.

  
Many of the stone buildings were undoing repairs as they passed and Stiles craned his neck to look at large scaffolds and cranes shadowed between buildings. Their path through the city twisted upwards until they reached a large flat courtyard. Several torches were placed about the perimeter and Stiles was able to see large building rising above them. 

  
It was the second circle; the Lodge. It was a massive building that took up the surrounding hilltop.

The first story was made from stone, while the second was wood. It gave the impression that the top structure had been created quickly through necessity, as was made with rough sawn oak and nailed together using large iron nails. The building loomed over the walled village below.  


  
Derek’s horse stopped and the Alpha tapped Stiles’ hand to release him before gracefully swinging himself off the tall horse. He passed the reins to a waiting teen and gripped Stiles by the waist and pulled him from the horse.

Stiles landed on unsteady legs and held tightly to his husband.

The teen took the horse towards the stables; a building that partially enclosed the courtyard with its semi-circle design. 

Several other mercenaries stopped behind them and dismounted and Derek shot him a brilliant smile and kissed him on his frigid cheek. "Ready to see your new home, little Prince?"

The affection caused Stiles’ skin to crawl, but he was much too anxious to pull away. Instead of answering diplomatically Stiles glanced around their surrounding company, "Where is Danny?"

Derek pulled Stiles along and together they crossed the courtyard towards a steep flight of flagstone steps.

"Danny and my scouts rode ahead yesterday to make sure the preparations were in place for tonight."

  
Atop the steps Stiles saw the fortification entrance. A wide wooden drawbridge connected the stone steps to the curved and imposing face of the Lodge. 

"Tonight?" Stiles asked anxiously.

“Do not fret” Derek ruffled him up and kissed the top of his head, “tonight is for rest. Tomorrow the celebrations begin. I merely wanted to make sure you’d be comfortable tonight.”

As they crossed the bridge Stiles looked over the side and saw the jagged rocks underneath.

Derek saw him staring and gave a reassuring smile. “You have no fear of being besieged here.”

 “Couldn’t they just burn the bridge and trap you inside?”  
  
Derek laughed, “amateur! Ha! I’d like to see them try.” He let his hand rest upon his husband’s lower back and guided him through the entry.

Through tall oak doors they entered into a vast hall. Wooden beams, and pillars ran the length of the hall. The floors were flagstone, and the walls lined with illuminated stone. Where stiles had anticipated to find a throne room, with plenty of space of courtiers or petitioners, instead in the along the centre towards the back were two long wooden tables with many bench seats.  In the centre of the room, between each table were firepits. As they began to walk through the room, Stiles could see arch ways leading off to the side.  
As the mercenaries trailed in behind them, servants filtered out from the side, carrying trays of food and flagons of mead.  
  
Various weapons and torches lined the walls, while couches, chairs, tables, and bookshelves sat underneath.  
  
“Is this is mess hall?” Stiles asked gently, his eyes still busy taking in the details of the room.  
  
“It’s the main hall; where we eat, and where many come to lounge and make merry.”  
  
Stiles turned about to see the remaining mercenaries turn off through corridors.

“But who?”

Derek lead Stiles to the far right of the hall, through a doorway and up a flight of stairs. “Any who are serving under me.”

“Oh, I understand.”

Stiles was pleased it was the commoner’s hall, and no doubt their personal dining area were upstairs. The corridors on the second floor were made entirely of wood, and many times the floorboards would creak and groan underfoot. The windows were wooden framed, with wooden shutters the only thing keeping the howling wind at bay. As it were they banged and shuttered as the wind beat against them.  
The corridor had a slight curve, and Stile could not see too far ahead. He tried to remember what they had passed, but the dimly lit corridor was not decorated and beside the slight variation in wood, there was no distinctive aspect to any of the doors they passed.

Thankfully they came to an archway that lead into a large open room, with another set of stairs to the left and open-door ways to the right.  
  
“Our quarters are up here, come.” Derek entwined their fingers and lead him up the remaining stone steps. Their door was only distinguished by an embossed wolf upon the door; it’s red eyes sparkling from the torch light.  
Stiles felt himself grow tense as his husband open the door. Inside he’d find where he was expected to live until his brother rescued him. He prayed for something more familiar and comfortable than the travelling tents.  
The door swung open and Stiles was met with the warm glow of torches lining wooden walls. The room was small. A fireplace and one stool sat directly in front of them, while a wooden four poster bed sat to the right. It was covered in furs and large pillows, and Stiles felt his shoulders sag with relief. Further into the room was a small study; with one narrow bookshelf, a table and chair with writing supplies, and two mannequins laden with armour. There was also a wardrobe further to the back.  
The right wall held three windows, all latched shut but still trembling with the wind.  
After stepping into the room and inspecting it he turned to see his husband grinning at him.  
Derek raised his hands and spoke, “so what do you think?”  
  
“it looks – “ Stiles took a turn about the room and stopped by the lit fireplace, “-comfortable.”  
  
“Good, good.” Derek walked towards the wardrobe and began to unlace his armour. “There is space on the walls, should you wish to mount a bow, or axe. And I’ll make room in the wardrobe for your clothes.”  
  
Stiles turned away as his husband dumped his leather chest plate on the ground and began to pull off his aketon.  
“I’ll call the girls to bring you a bath.” Derek walked up behind Stiles and kissed his neck, “you can wash in private while I fetch us a meal.”

Stiles wrung his hands and nodded, hoping his bath would be more than a bucket of warm water and a rag.

His husband passed him wearing his britches and his under shirt and left the room.  
Stiles had a couple of minutes to himself to look about the room carefully. In his father’s palace this room would have been used as storage. It was small and held no artistic decoration or craftmanship. Even the bed was made in a simple and crude design. And upon closer inspection the furs on the bed were rough but thick, underneath them was a thickly stuffed duvet. But at least the linen was not scratchy. 

He had been wondering around the room for some time when suddenly two women opened the door and came in without a knock or an ‘excuse me’. With them they carried a half wine barrel. They placed it near the fire and exited the room, but before Stile could request the door be closed they came back in with steaming buckets and proceeded to fill the barrel.  
Forcing himself to not stare at what was obviously his bath, he smiled and moved closer to the two women.  
  
“Hello.”  
  
“Be with you in a bit, love.” Stiles blinked in surprise at the casual and dismissive manner in which he was spoken and stood still.  
Once the bath was full, the two women placed the buckets outside the door and wiped their hands on their skirts.  
  
“Pleasure to meet you” said the older woman, who had brunette hair with grey streaks tied in a bun, shook his hand, “can’t say I know how to say your name, but it’s a pleasure to meet the man who has captured our leaders heart.”  
  
Surprised at being touched by a servant, Stiles gathered himself and smiled. “Well thank you.”  
“My name’s Dot, and this young one is my daughter Heather.”

“Indeed.” Stiles inclined his head and smiled.  
  
“and what should we call you then? Since we heard word of your arrival we’ve been calling you the Prince, but that just won’t do here.”

Stiles was too taken aback to ask why, and so instead he thought for a moment then spoke. “Some at home would call me my common name; it’s a shortened title given from the royal line. It seems appropriate now given the circumstances, you may call me Stiles.”  
  
Dot smiled softly at him and cupped his hands in hers, “Stiles. Beautiful. Welcome home.”

 

*

The bath while cramped and awkward to sit in, though it did have a short stool in the centre, was at least hot and soothing. It helped to ease some of the aches from his muscles, but he couldn’t relax. He cleaned quickly with a cotton wash cloth and a thin bar of unscented soap. All the while staring at the door, waiting for the horrific moment where his husband would walk in.  
He was given no screen to dress behind, and Stiles could find nothing in the room he could hide behind.  
Furthermore, his trunk had not been brought in yet. He was loathed to change back into his dirty travel clothes, and so, with only a wide cotton sheet to dry himself, he rummaged through his husband’s wardrobe.  
He pulled out a moss green tunic and dressed with paranoid efficiency.

 By the time his husband walked through the door holding three plates, one flagon of mead and his cup of tea, Stiles was warming himself by the fire.

Derek grinned and set the plates on the writing table before lifting it up and bringing it to the fireplace.  
He kissed him on the cheek and rested a hand upon his waist, “You look beautiful in my clothes.”  
  
Stiles turned away and self-consciously rubbed his hands against the worn cotton.  
  
“This should be more to your liking.” Derek arranged the plates and gave him one more kiss before moving aside.  
Stiles nodded his thanks and took a seat on the velvet stool by the fire. Thankfully his husband had selected a variety of food. On one plate there was a large slice of pumpkin pie and broad beans. The other held cuts of venison, meat sauce, potatoes and roasted beetroot. The final plate had spoonsful of sweet porridge, and rice pudding.  
It was still woefully inadequate but compared to their travel meals Stiles was hungry enough to not complain.  
Once he had a mouthful of roast venison his husband began to undress in front of him. Stiles almost choked on his meal and turned away.  
Derek could only laugh as he pulled his boots and britches off and stepped into the bath. “Apologies, I forget you’re unused to naked men.”  
Stiles flicked his eyes back over to see his husband’s wide and hairy chest disappearing into the water.

“If you wish me to leave!-“  
  
“No, just sit, I’ll eat while I bathe.”

Stiles was struck to the spot. The plate forgotten in his hands as his husband reached over from the bath and picked a thick cut of venison from his plate with his fingers.  
There was nothing that could prepare Stiles for this behaviour, he didn’t know what to say or do, and so in his shock he simply looked at his toes and continued to eat. Occasionally he was interrupted and distracted by a wet hairy arm reaching into his view to take more food. But thankfully his new husband was quiet and content to eat in the bath. He drank his tea in-between bites of food and tried not to grimace when Derek would gulp his mead.

The peace was interrupted as Derek leant his forearms against the rim of the bath, splashing water over onto the stone floor. “Would you pass me the pudding, love?”

Stiles was shocked from his quiet meal and hastily handed the desert plate over. The plate was held aloof in the air for a moment, and Stiles looked up from underneath his lashes, trying to avoid catching an inappropriate sight of his husband.  
  
Derek simply smiled back at him and opened his mouth. The alphas hair was wet, his eyes shone with light from the fire, and his exposed skin seemed to glisten from the water.  
Stiles swallowed and quickly scooped up a spoonful of pudding and passed it to his husband. He shifted in his seat, leaning a little more forward. He passed the spoon over, but Derek caught his wrist, locked eyes with him and slowly brought the spoonful to his mouth and ate.  
Stiles could feel himself blush and once his wrist was released he shot up from his chair. “I think I may retire.”

“Go ahead, I’ll be out soon.” Derek lounged back in the bath, spreading his arms and kicking a foot out. He grabbed the wash cloth and soap and began to absentmindedly clean himself.  
  
Stiles made his way over to the bed, the object made him nervous and he couldn’t help the shadow of fear settle over him. He stole one last look back at his husband and spoke, “Will Knight Mahealani be arriving shortly?”  
  
“Mahealani?” Derek repeated, his voice twisted with confusion.

Behind him Stiles heard the water slosh and the distinctive sounds of his husband exiting the bath and padding over to him.  
Eyes wide with concern, Stile stared ahead and didn’t dare move as his husband stepped behind him and put his hands about his waist.  
  
“I allowed the knight to comfort you on your journey here, but now your place is in my bed with me. I’ll share you with no other.”

Stiles pulled the wet hands off his waist and stepped toward the window. “Please, general.”

“I said to call me either husband or Derek.” A moment of silence hung between them before Derek huffed and he snatched the towel Stiles had used before.

“You have nothing to fear.” Derek scrubbed himself dry then walked towards the wardrobe.

Stiles couldn’t help but track the movement and was rewarded with the sight of his husbands hairy backside. He had strong thighs, a firm hairy bottom, and his shoulder muscles flexed as he pulled two long shirts free. Stiles quickly turned back to the shutters as his husband walked over to him and passed him a shirt.  
  
“You know the promise I have made; I won’t fuck you until your heat. So please, be at ease.”  
“I can’t be at ease while you wander about naked!” Stiles snapped.

He snatched the shirt from his husband’s hand and walked to the other side of the room. “and I demand a dressing screen to be added.”

Derek slipped the shirt on and rolled his eyes, “Surely an Alpha with an Omega as beautiful as yourself would not rid themselves the opportunity to see them naked.”  
“It’s inappropriate!”  
“We’re married, Miez.”

Stiles froze for a moment, but quickly recovered. Tugging the shirt over his tunic he began the difficult task of pulling the tunic off from underneath.  
  
“You could have asked me to turn around.” Derek laughed, watching his husband struggle to keep his modesty.  
  
Stiles held his tongue for a moment, wanting to keep his manners in check, but they were fast falling apart.  
“I wouldn’t trust you to look away.”

Derek out right laughed and walked over to help his husband. He knelt at his feet, intent on pulling the tunic free from underneath. “A wise decision. Now that we are in Triskelion, well…” Derek trailed off. His mind preoccupied with kneeling below his struggling husband, his eyes roamed about his shapely pale legs. Stiles tried to step away, but Derek caught his knee in one hand while the other smoothed its way up from his ankle, up a tensing calf, over a knobbly knee to spread out in greedy exploration over his trembling hairy thigh. The Princes’ skin was smooth and paler then the rest of him. He wanted to put his face in between the boys thighs, wanted to send his hands up underneath the shirt and slide in between wet cheeks and hard flesh. But Stiles’ hands stopped him.

Casting his eyes upwards, the omega was staring down at him with fierce eyes and a bright blush. Derek grinned before gently removing his hands to tug the tunic down the boys legs.  
  
Thankfully the shirt came to his knees so Stiles felt a little protected.

Once free Stiles quickly stepped away and moved towards the bed. He pulled back the covers and jumped in before his husband could touch him further.  
  
Derek still stood by the fire, the tunic at his feet and a smile upon his face as he watched his husband snuggle into the bedding.

Seeing the Alpha walk towards the bed Stiles turned away, “I won’t have your wandering hands on me tonight!”

Derek pulled back the covers and settled in beside his cocooned omega.

“Surely-“ he began, ever so slowly moving closer, gently prying the duvet away from the boys back so he could settle closer, “I am allowed to hold you?”  
  
Stiles felt a hand snake about his waist and the scratch of his husbands beard against his neck as the Alpha pulled himself flush against him.

His false bravado could not rise to fight, nor did he want to risk angering the alpha behind him. Self-consciously he tugged the shirt lower, covering as much of his bottom and thighs as possible.  
“You may hold me-“ Stiles whispered, his eyes clenched closed, “but please, please nothing else.”  
  
A scratchy kiss was placed behind his ear and a whispered reply, “I promise, my Prince. I will keep my waking hands away from your virtue. I do not wish to frighten you from our bed.”

Derek settled into the bed further. He sighed in contentment and let sleep take him. Stiles was unable to sleep. The fire slowly died down, and the flickering lights played upon the trembling shutters. The wind howled outside, the whole building seemed to groan, and Stiles once again fell asleep crying into his pillow.  


 

*  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry for the delay.  
> 9 weeks or bronchitis and then pneumonia. 
> 
> So for a visual guide, the scenery is inspired from Skyrim, and the landscape of Triskelion is based on Whiterun.  
> Although the story is 90% planned out, I’m open to peoples input; requests on what you’d like to see, scenarios etc.


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